


The Huntress

by AnnEllspethRaven



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Marriage, Thranduil - Freeform, Thranduil X OFC - Freeform, Thranduil x Wife - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-23 16:51:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7471617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale that borrows imagery elements and certain archetypes from fairy tales, with an especial nod to Beauty and the Beast, to create a story of King Thranduil's wife. It does not follow the assumptions of the Peter Jackson movies. Only possibilities remaining open from Tolkien's writings are considered here. It is my answer to the question of, why do we know nothing of Legolas' mother/Thranduil's wife? Everyone assumes that she died, and that Thranduil was bereaved. But what if the truth is that the path of her life was very different than what we would have imagined, and she simply never occupied the place in which we expected to find her?<br/>Scenes with mild violence, attempted (unsuccessful) sexual assaults, references to the ordinary pursuits of hunting game, especially deer. There is a version of this story published under my same username on fanfiction.net  WITHOUT ADULT CONTENT and is rated "teen". If you would prefer to read the story without any bedroom moments, head on over. The story is published here as it was meant to be read.<br/>I would like to give special thanks to Lilith diLibri, beta reader extraordinaire for this story!! As always, kudos are nice and comments are nicer :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long after I completed this story, I was on DeviantArt and...my heart pretty much stopped when I saw this gifted artist's piece. If I had commissioned someone to show what Miriel looked like in my mind, it couldn't have been better than this. Hope you enjoy it as much as I did...and make sure to look at the entire gallery. It is some of the most stunning Thranduil work out there: http://pelegrin-tn.deviantart.com/art/Thranduil-s-wife-512615689

Miriel rubbed the aching muscles of her shoulder under her cloak, in the predawn chill. For what seemed like the tenth time, she silently admonished her brother Braedon, a swiftly growing and athletic lad of fifteen, with a tap on the arm on account of the fidgeting that her sensitive ears could hear. They were running out of time, to bring in enough venison to ensure they would survive the long Rhovanion winter. If she could hear the tiny rustle of the leaves underfoot, the deer could as well. Today they hunted at the edge of the Greenwood. Against her preference, Braedon had insisted on accompanying her, and though she loved her brother, she was more than beginning to rue her decision. Everyone knew of and feared the Elvenking that ruled and protected this forest, and Miriel, like all the rest from the village, knew to stay far away. But as the days of unsuccessful hunting wore on, desperation was setting in, which was why they were now positioned right at the edge of his woods, in the hopes that a buck might be taken just outside, at the grassy places where there was yet forage.

For as long as she could remember, she had been cared for by a family of little means but kinds hearts that lived in a tiny enclave, some miles from the edge of the mighty forest. Though they were not her real parents, they were Ma and Da to her. And to her great heartbreak, Da had died of a fever this last spring. He had long been training both Miriel and Braedon in his craft as a woodworker, at which occupation Braedon already showed remarkable skill. Da had been able to support his family with adequate food, clothing and shelter, though none of the family's possessions spoke of any luxury. Ordinarily they traded his wares for their necessities in Dale. On very rare occasion, they might manage to sell a luxury piece to the elves who purchased for the Elvenking, which would mean extra food on the table for many a long month.

Her father had specialized in furniture pieces of great beauty and craftsmanship; some said his best pieces rivaled those the Elves themselves made. Miriel's most cherished possessions were her bow, and the carven pendant her Da had made her in the shape of a stag's antlers, of a special hardwood that was a true purple color when sanded and polished. He had given it to her in honor of her skill at hunting; everyone unquestioningly knew she was the best archer in the village. At the earliest age she had shown interest, and he had learned to make fine bows when he was not busy with furniture. Always she wore her pendant proudly on her collarbones, but the day she lost her Da, in a fit of grief she tied the cord that held it around her neck into knots that would never come out. Her Da had chosen it because there was yet another way his daughter was special; her eyes were a stunning violet color, and the wooden pendant matched their hue. They stood out in vivid contrast to her golden hair. He was proud of his fiercely wild daughter, who loved to stalk game far more than she loved to sand lumber or prepare varnishes. And while he might have preferred she was inclined to more domestic pursuits, he could not deny that the food she brought in on a regular basis was a blessing to their family.

Ma was simply kind, and loving. The loss of Da had been a heavy blow to all of them, but especially Ma; she had cherished her husband. While the village had done what they could to help and offer comfort, it had seemed in the last months that the family's fortunes were being stolen away just like the leaves were being stolen from the trees in the autumn chill. They simply could not make the journey to Dale to sell their wares this season, and were facing bleak times this winter. Grief had kept Ma from doing as much as would have been usual to preserve fruits, meats and nuts, and she could not bear the thought of her children leaving her alone to make the dangerous and long journey. Were it not for her and her brother, Miriel wondered if her mother might not have already have succumbed to grief.

As the light filtered into the eastern sky, beyond hope, Miriel saw the target of her dreams...a large buck had emerged from the trees, whose meat and bones could help keep them nourished for weeks, once every bit of its body had been put to use, with as much of the flesh smoked and dried as possible. Noiselessly, she nocked an arrow to her bow and slowly drew. The arrow sped to the heart of the beast, and yet something went wrong. As she cursed her ill luck, the buck turned and staggered into Mirkwood.

"Braedon, no!" she hissed, as she saw her brother sprint after it. Having no choice, she followed him, but he was the faster runner. For a quarter hour, she chased the racket of sounds he made ahead of her into the forest, with the trepidation in her heart mounting all the while. But what was she supposed to do? They had to have the meat, and the animal would perish where it eventually fell. It was a code of honor, to never waste the sacrificed life of prey. Never did she take anything, except to use it as food. To her, it was a sacred obligation, though she could not say why. Her heart simply told her so. Unlike her brother, who made more noise than the dying stag, Miriel ran silently. And when she came within sight of a clearing in the distance, her heart sank. Braedon had the stag, and a tall figure, hooded and cloaked, had Braedon. Rage and despair filled her, as she pulled her own hood over her head. Nocking another arrow, she stole behind them. Drawing, her voice rang out: "Release my brother, or I will kill you."

Unhurriedly, the figure turned, and only now did she see that a long sword of exquisite make was held to her brother's throat. Terror was written in Braedon's eyes. A gloved hand brushed back the hood to reveal a tall elf with flaxen hair, wearing an ornate diadem.

A crushing weight came across her chest, for she knew who this had to be. The thing she dreaded most was happening; the hunters were now prey. Her only thought now was to save her brother, for Ma. Tales of the Elvenking's fighting skill were legendary, and he was almost assuredly not here alone. With a fluid motion, she reversed her draw and brought the arrow off the string as she knelt amidst the fallen leaves, laying down her bow. In a strong voice, she said, "I did not know, my Lord. Forgive me." And in a voice that quavered slightly, in spite of herself, "I will do anything. Only please, spare my brother." Miriel was not given to fear, but she felt some of it now, for Braedon's welfare. If the King would not listen, there was nothing she could do to save him. Or herself.

Dragging Braedon effortlessly, the Elvenking strode toward her. The point of his sword came up and tossed her hood back with a casual flick of his wrist. The cold anger of his voice matched the displeasure that marred what might have otherwise been a face of ethereal beauty. "Look at me."

Miriel fearlessly raised her eyes to his, struggling to keep the despair she felt from her features. She thought she caught a flare in his eyes, at seeing her own, but she was long used to that reaction from strangers. As far as she knew, in all of Middle Earth no one else had her eye color; a deep violet purple. "What gives you any right to attempt to bargain, when you have been caught hunting in my forest?"

With all her effort, she kept her voice level, pleading. "My Lord, we have no rights, in your forest. But I shot the animal outside, in the grass at its edge. My brother ran in here after it before I could stop him. I would not have entered, but for the animal being as good as dead and how badly we need the food. It is a crime, to waste the life of a creature one has hunted. I beg you, my Lord, take me but release my brother. It will kill our mother, to have lost her husband and both her children.

A mocking laugh issued from the incensed monarch as a cruel smile turned up the corners of his mouth. He was provoked, and wanted to provoke her in return. "Do you expect me to believe that?"

She summoned every ounce of humility in her. "It is said that the Elvenking can read the minds and hearts of others. If you do not believe me, then look. Or send to the village, and ask. He is Braedon and I am Miriel, children of Bëor the woodworker, and Iris. Please, my Lord."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. While he could choose to make the effort to plumb the minds of others, as a rule, he did not do so without very good reason. He already knew she spoke the truth; it was difficult to deceive him. But his anger was running hot at finding his stag taken by another, and he did not entirely feel like being reasonable. Everyone knew of Bëor...but he did not know that the man had perished. And yet, now the crime was muddled. If the animal had indeed been shot outside his border, there was some argument that trespass was the offense, more than poaching. But she had also claimed respect for the law of the hunt. His eyes roved over the two. That they were not well-fed seemed obvious, yet he owed these people nothing. And there was something about her extraordinary eyes...and she had skill, to bring down the stag. Or was it luck?

"Stand up," he ordered her curtly. He gestured at an empty bird's nest in a distant tree. "Shoot down the nest." Bending to retrieve her bow and arrow, with a last glance at his imperious face, she did as he asked. Lowering her bow, she continued to regard him. His features were unreadable, yet some of the anger seemed to have diminished.

He continued to think. Releasing both of them was out of the question, and yet he recalled her exact words with his perfect memory. _I will do anything._ We shall see, he thought to himself. She could prove useful, amusing, or both. Or more, perhaps; as a chord to which he could not currently listen was struck deep within his heart. He could not say, exactly why he acted as he next did; except that it was out of his own want. One with the necessary wisdom, though, might have told him that in that moment, a vague hope flared in his heart. A hope for something he could not yet completely define. A hope for something he had lost, and that she possessed.

Thranduil released his grip on Braedon and made a gesture with his arm. "Return to your home. My guards will bear the stag. If the truth of your story is verified, you may have the meat. If it proves otherwise, it will be the worse for your sister. I accept her offer." Immediately more than a dozen other elves materialized out of seemingly nowhere. At a flick of the King's hand, two of them pulled Braedon away as he shouted in protest, his face contorted in grief. Most of the others made to truss the deer to a suitable fallen branch for carrying. Miriel stepped toward her brother, only to feel the unbreakable grip of the King's hand on her shoulder. He hissed into her ear. "You will not move, unless you wish me to change my mind."

He had ordered her still, but not silent. In a shockingly powerful voice, with all the feeling she could muster, she shouted after her brother. "Care for Ma. I love you both. Do not fear for me." And just as swiftly, she turned back toward the King and raised her hood against the chill of the morning. She had not even been allowed the courtesy of saying goodbye to her brother. Though she could be very dispassionate, she was fairly sure her grief would come later. But she would not add a show of emotion, now, to Braedon's burdens. Those had just become very heavy, indeed. Nor would she give this cold King the satisfaction of watching her sorrows. Her hand went to her throat, to her father's gift. As she closed her hand around it, the sharp points of the wood bit into her palm. She had done all she could.

Thranduil waved his hand at the remainder of his guards, dismissing them. "Come," he told her. He walked away from her, swiftly. From under her hood, she rolled her eyes at him. She now had to do as he said, but he could not rule her thoughts. It amused her to no end, that he had enough arrogance to leave an armed and unsearched prisoner at his back. Idly, she wondered if she should have just shot him. But deep down, she recognized that he was in the right, and they had had the stupid bad luck to be in the wrong place doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. For all of his apparent heartlessness, he did release Braedon. Yet, she maintained a conviction that no altruism lay behind that decision. Noiselessly, she put her bow over her body and followed him at close distance. Her biggest loss, aside from that of her family, would be her freedom. She had spent most of her life tracking and hunting; left to her solitude in the wide spaces of nature. It had been said his was an underground fortress, hidden away from the sun and stars. What would become of her, shut away inside of stone walls? But a bargain was a bargain, and she kept her word.

As Thranduil walked on, even he had to admit he was impressed at the silence behind him. No noisy crashing through the woods. Were it not for his superior senses that occasionally registered the softest footfall, he would almost be tempted to turn around to verify her obedience. After he had covered some distance, he held up his hand. Seeing it, she stopped. He sounded a long, quavering whistle, and not many moments afterward a massive bull elk came to him, wearing a riding harness of sorts. This she had not heard of, and raised her eyebrows, as she watched him leap onto the tall animal. Wordlessly, he looked at her and reached his hand out in her direction. Her face unreadable, she walked to the animal and returned the gesture. In a swift motion, as if she were weightless, he pulled her up and seated her in front of him. She felt her bow being removed from her back, and whipped around to see him placing it on himself. A smirk played across his face, his eyes daring her to question him. Miriel was not about to give him the satisfaction, though her heart was pounding at the idea of losing what her father had made for her. Yet there was little she could do. That she'd kept it this long was frankly unexpected. Thranduil whispered to the elk to return to his Palace.

Now it was her turn to smirk. She'd always been able to understand their Sindarin tongue, she just had declined to ever mention it to anyone. Even Ma and Da hadn't known. And honestly, Miriel had no idea why. It felt like...her private secret. From her earliest memory, she schooled her expression to one of blank lack of understanding whenever elves had been around. Sometimes she'd traveled to Dale with Da, and sometimes elves passed through the village. It amused her, to hear the things of which they spoke, when they were so certain that her kind were oblivious to their speech. While she was kind and decent, she could be intensely private. Ma and Da had always recognized this about her, and loved her for who she was. She knew that she wasn't born to them like Braedon was, it had never been a secret. But they had cared for her as their own and she loved them just the same. Her hand went to her neck again, as her thoughts drifted back to her Da. Yet any sentiments were cut short. The powerful animal gathered itself underneath her, and she felt the arm of the King come around her, pinning her back against him as the elk lurched into a full gallop.

Her eyes opened wide and in spite of herself she instinctively reached to hold the King's arm. A few minutes down the track she released her hold on him, having accustomed herself as she willed her body to adapt to the motion. She forced her body to relax, and sink into the elk's stride. If this hadn't already been one of the worst days of her life, she might have had a frame of mind to enjoy it; it did not escape her that likely, she was on a very short list of those who had ever ridden on this kind of a mount. As the leagues wore on, she found a feast for the senses. Her keen eyes noticed game trails, and her sensitive nose registered the scents of the wood. It was darker inside, and massive beyond anything she could have imagined. And yet, it had a beauty of its own. Game lived here, in abundance. She would give much, to just be dropped off in here with her bow. How easily she could fill her Ma's larder, then! But what was the point, the game of these woods was why she was in this mess. Once only, she twisted around to glance up at him out of her peripheral vision. His face seemed as though it had lost its anger, though who actually knew what he thought. That she was held against him meant nothing to her; she did not fear him. Hunting had taught her that fear was among the most useless of emotions; it clouded the mind and prevented clear thinking.

At long last, they approached an area that was obviously a stable. He had instructed his mount to slow to a walk for the last mile, presumably to give it time to cool down. What was not cooled down were her legs. She was not a rider, having had precious few opportunities. Her limbs burned with pain. When at last they arrived, the King jumped lightly to the ground. She noted that the groom that held the elk's reins averted his eyes from the monarch, as did the other stablehands. Was it deference, or fear?

Only now could she see how intensely blue his eyes were, as they met her own with impatient expectation. He again offered his hand. She swung her leg over the elk's back before taking it, pushing away from the animal. Only the strength of his upward pull kept her from crashing to the ground, as the pain in her legs caused her to inhale sharply. Annoyed with herself, she released his hand. "Come" he ordered again. Turning his back on her, he walked off. Within the first ten agonizing steps, she knew she could not keep pace with him. "Please, my Lord" she called out forcefully. She kept walking with the small, slow steps she could painfully manage. Thranduil stopped and turned to look at her. "I cannot keep up with you," she said clearly, and unapologetically. A flicker of annoyance crossed his features. He decided that his impatience outweighed his mild amusement at her predicament. Striding back to her, he swept her into his arms without comment, and proceeded on his way. Her expression was one of blank indifference. Instinctively she reached to hold onto his shoulder with her arm. A single eyebrow arched slightly, but otherwise he did not react.

He wound his way through passages and walkways, finally emerging into a grand, cavernous space the likes of which she could not have imagined. Though her features remained impassive, no one could fail to be moved inside of themselves at the grandeur and beauty of the intermingled wood and stone. She wished her Da could have seen this; he would so have appreciated the carvings and fine ornamentation that now met her eyes. He brought her very near a throne, with massive spreading antlers cresting the top of it, and set her on her feet. He did not handle her roughly, and ensured she would remain standing. It must be his throne, she reasoned. If she had any doubts about the wisdom of her choices today, the sight of his kingdom eliminated them. Attempting to harm him would have been suicide, and quite possibly a death warrant for her entire family. She knew nothing of their customs or laws, but the penalties for attacking a monarch were generally unthinkably high. It was true that she came from a background of little means, but she understood the dynamics of power, of predator and prey. This place was designed to speak for the prowess of the one who ruled it. While she did not fear him, she had to respect his might. What she did not currently much respect was....him. He seemed devoid of kindness, or empathy.

He stepped aside, speaking to one of the elves stationed there. She heard him say in Sindarin that he wanted the proceedings recorded and possibly an Oath of Fealty. To her, he spoke in Westron, as he slowly pulled his fingers free of his gloves. From somewhere inside his robes he procured a ring set with a very large white gem, and slid it onto one of his long fingers.. "You promised to do anything. If you will fulfill your promise, you will pledge yourself of your own free will to my service, as one of my subjects. If you refuse, your alternative is to reside here as my prisoner, until such time as you will be tried for trespass and poaching in my forest. Which do you choose?" A faint smirk played over his face, as he spoke the words.

Another elf standing nearby interrupted to say, "My Lord, this is most unusual. Are you certain you have considered...." The King's hand flew up in a command of silence, as he fixed an unyielding stare on the other elf. "Erynion, am I not King?" The one who apparently was named Erynion bowed deeply while answering "Yes, my Lord." No more was said.

 _Truly, this one is quite something_ , she thought. _Will it disappoint him, that I do not crumble at hearing his demand? Is he hoping I will beg for something different? He is like the cat, desiring the mouse to squeal and run. But I don't play. I know what I agreed to._

"I will take your oath, my Lord, if that is your will." The mild flicker of surprise on his face amused her mightily. Raising his eyes to another elf, he gave orders in Sindarin for his auxiliary chamber to be prepared, and food brought. What did that mean?

Returning his attention to her, he spoke again in Westron.

"Then kneel, and repeat after me, Miriel daughter of Bëor."

"My Lord?"

The King frowned, as he watched her gingerly lower herself to her knees.

"Yes?"

"You should know that I am not the natural offspring of my parents. They have cared for me back to my earliest memories, but I was not born to them. I cannot tell you my lineage."

He gave her a curt nod, and told the scribe to make the notation. Fixing her again with his eyes, he provided the words that she repeated after him as she looked into his eyes.

"I, Miriel, vow my loyalty and service to Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Woodland Realm. To his laws, judgements and commands I pledge my obedience, forsaking all other allegiance. From this day forward I place my person under his authority, for as long as I shall live. So do I swear." He held out his hand to her, and she realized that she was to kiss his ring. It was the final gesture of fealty. The stone felt hard, and unyielding against her lips.

Bitterness coupled with resignation coursed behind her expressionless face. This was the cost of her brother's freedom, of his life. The King now held his hand out for her to take, but it was not to raise her up, there was more. His eyes did not leave hers as he spoke, his fingers gripping hers firmly.

"I, Thranduil Oropherion, Lord of the Woodland Realm, hear your oath. I vow to serve you as your liege Lord, to protect you and care for you, and to honor your service in kind. Your loyalty I will reward with love, even as I will take retribution for disobedience. So do I swear."

His face and voice were soft as he said this, and....sincere? She was floored. There was dissonance in what she had experienced today. A flicker of doubt washed over her violet eyes as he drew her carefully to her feet. Leaning down, he cupped her head with his hand, and placed his kiss of blessing on her forehead, before backing a step away. "Well done, Miriel," he whispered softly in Sindarin. He regarded her for a moment before saying once again in Westron, "Come." Without waiting for her useless legs to slow him down, he picked her up once again. As they left, most of the other elves present looked at each other. It would have taken a practiced eye to see it, but eyebrows raised even as shoulders imperceptibly shrugged.

Miriel felt hard pressed to know what to do with herself. However unflappable she characteristically was, too many things of too much import had transpired, and almost all of them revolved around the King, who, for all practical purposes, now possessed her. Complicated by the fact that she did not know him, and felt reasonably certain that she did not wish to, either. Give or take that he was carrying her, with his face less than a foot away. From time to time, she found her eyes looking at his, but she averted her gaze quickly the moment he moved to look back.

 _Prey cannot afford to show weakness_ , she thought.

"You do not speak much, do you, Miriel?"

His voice was as soft now as it had been chillingly angry the first time she heard it.

 _This elf makes no sense_ , she thought.

"No, my Lord. It is a poor trait, in a huntress."

"Indeed."

Finally, he arrived at a heavy door, which he pushed open. Inside was a living space arguably close to the size of her house in the village. Nearest to them was a small table with two comfortable chairs, and he placed her carefully on one of these. At long last, he removed her bow from himself and laid it on the table. "Miriel, are you familiar with elvish healing?"

"No, my Lord."

He smiled. "There is no need to suffer here from pain, sickness and injuries. If you are ever unwell, you are to tell me. You hurt, from the ride here. I am going to heal you; I will be touching you, over your clothing. Do not move." Remaining imperturbable suddenly became much harder. As a generality, she did not tolerate the contact of others and definitely not anywhere near....there. One time a saucy young man in Dale thought he would enjoy placing his hands on her. Later it got back to her Da that he had spent ten days abed, unable to rise after the blow to the head she'd fetched him. Ma and Da did not worry much over her safety during time she spent off hunting, and for a reason.

In the end her determination to not let him see that she cared about anything he said or did won out. After the promises she'd just spoken, striking him was out of the question no matter what he did...but he genuinely did not seem like his list of faults would include ....that. Though she did not want it to, a soft gasp escaped her lips when his healing commenced. The blistering pain on the inside of her thighs and seat bones was replaced by a sensation of bliss that exceeded anything she'd ever felt in her life. She wanted to despise herself for being sorry when he was finished, but found she could not. With all her will, she schooled her expression to not reveal her experience.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, my Lord." she paused. "Thank you."

He rose. "These are your quarters. You will find clothing, personal items, and every other necessity in these rooms. You are to bathe, and dress in clean garments. In an hour, I will expect to find you ready. You are to take your meals with me." He reached over to the hourglass that sat on the table, and turned it.

Pausing at the door, he looked at her with a half smile. "Pedig edhellen?" (Do you speak Elvish?) Miriel remained silent, her expression blank. He continued, in Sindarin, as if speaking aloud to himself. "Of course not. And perhaps, I will enjoy being able to unburden my thoughts to you, though my words will mean nothing. Do I not see that you hear the call of the hunt, as do I?" She allowed her face to take on a slightly quizzical expression, as he smiled, and closed the door. A tiny part of her felt a stab of guilt, in the face of her vows to him, but she did have a loophole. She really could not speak Sindarin, per se. She understood it fluently, but it wasn't exactly the same. Of course she could spit out basic phrases, but she would be hard pressed to turn her ability to understand into an ability to converse. Besides, why would she divulge her private secrets to him? She would not forget, he did not let her say a simple goodbye to Braedon.

As the sight of the sand falling in the hourglass broke her reflections, she rose and began to investigate her surroundings, but not before placing her quiver and assorted knives with her bow. Pushing upon another carven door, she found a bathing pool the likes of which she could not imagine. There was room in it for three people, she was certain, and it was filled with steaming water from a thermal source. Stripping off boots and clothing, and placing them on a chair, she entered the pool, involuntarily groaning with enjoyment. Like with many, daily bathing was a luxury that she could not afford. She did her best to rub her body down with cleaning cloths each day, but certainly her deerskin garments were not as fine as what she'd seen worn here.

In front of her was a dizzying array of cleansers, emollients, and abrasive compounds. Plunging her head under the water, she began scrubbing at the top and kept going until her skin was angry and red from her efforts. She chose compounds that seemed to smell more of tree resins than flowers; no one could hunt a deer perfumed like a floral seller's market stall. The ones that smelled like pine and cedar appealed most. She rinsed and dried herself, rubbing at her hair. Finding a comb, she pulled at the tangles and wove it into a loose herringbone as always, to cover her damaged ears. Lastly she searched for clothing. The sight of the gowns and dresses appalled her. It took a great deal of effort, but she located brown leggings and a moss green tunic that was not overly distasteful with ornamentation. Nothing here precisely was the same as the wrap she devised to wear under her garments, by which she bound her breasts tightly against her chest. What would be full and attractive womanly beauty to some were nuisances that brought unwanted male attention and interfered with her hunting, to her. At last she discovered a long scarf of thin silk that would suit the purpose. There were socks, and soft boots that fit over the leggings. She could not recall when she had last felt this clean or had such nice garments.

Having done as he asked, she spent the remainder of her time poking around in drawers, cabinets and storage spaces, trying to understand what was here. As much as she did not wish to acknowledge it, the King was extremely generous. And then her eye fell on a small object on a table next to the bed. Rushing over, she picked up the precious box. Of the most elegant polished wood, she recognized it unquestionably as one her Da had made. She had helped him; this exact piece had given her endless torment. Da had not been satisfied with how she had prepared the varnishes, and countless times he made her sand it out again and again until she loathed the sight of it. It was in his nature that any piece bearing his name has to be absolute perfection. Sitting on the bed, she ran her fingers over the surface that shone like glass. What would she give, to have Da standing here, telling her to sand it out one more time? This thought undid her. She could not stop the tears that came, and sobbed with grief as she clutched the box to her chest.

Her tears released so many things that whirled in her mind....and yet, how much has the King paid for this box? How many weeks has they eaten, because of it? The worst of her emotion now passed, she sighed. Tenderly brushing her fingers one more time over the shining finish, she carefully replaced the box where she found it, and wiped her face dry with her hands. She stood up, and that was when she saw him in the doorway, watching her.

Silently she cursed herself that she had not paid attention to the time, but it was too late now. He had seen, and that was that. She walked forward, and without emotion or meeting his eyes said, "I am ready, my Lord. I apologize for keeping you waiting." He had changed his clothing, she noted, and now wore luxurious fabrics.

His eyes widened at this complete transformation from what he had walked in on. "Miriel, why were you crying?"

She did not immediately reply. He pressed harder. His tone was not harsh but neither was it soft; it carried warning. "Miriel, when your King asks a question, he expects an truthful answer."

Her violet eyes, devoid of emotion, now raised to meet his. "My Lord. I apologize for not understanding. The reasons are, first, because while I will serve you well, I grieve the loss of my freedom. Second, I was reflecting that my mother and brother may starve this winter, because I provided most of their food and now I am gone. Third, I thought about what my mother is enduring from the loss of her daughter. Fourth, I feel the guilt my brother will now bear, for causing my loss and the responsibility he must now uphold alone for their survival. Fifth, it hurts my heart to find that particular box of my father's here, as it carries a memory and reminds me of his loss. Sixth, it feels difficult to find myself in the midst of such luxury and generosity when I know my family struggles. Seventh, it grieved me, not to be allowed to say goodbye to my brother. " She now lowered her gaze.

Thranduil's lips parted at the response he had insisted upon hearing. He remembered his thought of this morning. _I owe these people nothing._ Except, he now very much owed the one standing in front of him something. He did not respond. He did not know how to respond, in words. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and looked at him again. His face was as soft as she had yet seen it. Was it possible he actually had feelings? "Come," he said softly, gently steering her back out the door. At the next doorway over, guards stood at attention. In Sindarin, he asked one of them to have the captain from this morning's detail into the woods report to him here immediately, on his return. With a curt nod, the guard left at once. Opening the door, he ushered Miriel inside, and led her to a fine table with a meal already laid out. Still she revealed no emotion, though she was feeling a great deal of it inside. That alone discomfited her; her days were ones that were calm, focused, untroubled. Obviously these were his private rooms; meaning also that her own quarters were next to that of the King. She realized now that his decision to take her was not as simple as she'd imagined. What did he want from her? Why on earth would he treat her like this? Wariness and warning coursed through her veins. She must calm herself, and bide her time. _The truth of any matter reveals itself eventually_ , she reminded herself.

The King courteously held her chair for her, indicating she should sit. "Thank you, my Lord." The scent coming from the foods laid out in front of her caused sharp pains of hunger. She had never seen this much food, nor food so fine, ever in her life. But her parents had raised her to be mannerly, and she did not honestly know what to do with the array of utensils in front of her. But she could observe, and so she carefully watched him and imitated. He filled her plate, and then his own. She picked up the same utensils, willing herself not to tremble from the self control needed to refrain from the desire to choke down the food as a wild dog might. She forced herself to match the rate at which he ate...mostly. He did not speak as he enjoyed his food. Allowing herself to go just a little faster seemed like it could be permissible. Clearing her plate, she remained silent as did he. Though, she could not contain the gleam of hunger in her eyes. There was so, so much food. Thranduil saw. "You would like more?"

"Yes, my Lord." Again he filled her plate, and continued eating. By the end of the second helping, she no longer felt crazed with hunger, but she could most definitely eat more. A knock came on the door, and a soldier entered and bowed to the King. As he filled her plate yet again, he began speaking to the other elf in Sindarin. "The stag was taken to the family of this woman?"

"Yes, my Lord. All that we saw was as she said. The mother was...grieved, my Lord."

Keeping a neutral expression at his next words may have been the most difficult achievement of her life.

"You are to make ready provision for that family, to be taken tomorrow. They are to have more than enough food brought to them to last the winter, and beyond. You are to determine further their circumstances, and find out what else may be done for their well-being and comfort. They are to want for nothing. Return to me, before you depart in the morning."

"It will be done, my Lord." With that, the guard turned and withdrew.

It took sheer force of will to continue to look down at her food, chew, and pretend obliviousness. Her heart was rocketing inside her chest, and emotion surged which made it difficult to draw breath. She did not dare meet his eyes, for fear she would come undone. Her eating was slowed, both from finally feeling filled as well as the news she'd had. Yet at last, her plate was cleared, and she placed her utensils in a mirror of his own plate. When she finally had gathered herself to look up again, she saw his eyes on her. He was drinking wine, seemingly content.

"Would you like wine?" he asked.

"I do not know, my Lord. I have never had it." It was true enough; it was a luxury outside the reach of her family. She had seen the stalls of the wine merchants in Dale, and had also instinctively disliked the rowdiness and...behavior...that seemed to go with those who consumed it. But clearly that was not occurring here. He poured some for her, into a drinking bowl.

"Try it, then."

She raised the bowl cautiously to her face. Frowning, she tried to decipher the complexity. There was fruit, but also notes of wood. Why would that be? The smell was pleasing, more than not. Having discovered all she could from the scent, she cautiously took a small sip. The flavor combination was not what she expected. How could one beverage taste like so many things? And as she swallowed it, she realized that her perceptions changed as it washed over her tongue, and even afterward. Certainly, it was not dislikable. Another sip, this time more.

Her thoughts, this time, were not schooled off her face. The King watched in fascination as the experience played over her features. And it told him something else; she did have feelings, and in abundance. She merely had the self discipline and skill to almost always erase them from the view of others. To him, this was an admirable trait. But at the moment, simply watching her brought him more pleasure than he could recall feeling in a very long time. He did her the courtesy of not remarking on what he had just seen.

"And?" he asked her, though he perfectly well knew the answer.

"I now see what all the fuss is about, my Lord," she replied. "It is a very complex and appealing thing."

"Would you like more?

"Not now, thank you," she said, her face returning to its usual blank slate. The corners of his lips curled slightly, when he watched her finish what she had been given.

Standing, he held her chair for her once again, and bade her follow him to a desk, and which he indicated she should sit. "You can write?" he asked, indicating the quill and ink, and bringing out sheets of parchment.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Then write what you wish, to your family. It will be delivered, soon."

She looked up at him, her mask threatening to drop. "Thank you, my Lord," was her only reply. With a nod, he turned and left her alone; she heard the outer door close. Cautiously, she rose to verify that she was indeed alone, before she returned to her chair.


	2. Two

Now what was she supposed to say? What he had just done for her family had almost stopped her heart. Had she badly misjudged him? What were his motives? _Sometimes the spider weaves a beautiful web_ , she thought. _But he does not know that I understood_ , she reasoned. _If he is doing this to somehow manipulate me, why would he not plainly reveal his deeds?_ On at least one matter, she had to concede. She had promised him loyalty, not being certain he deserved it. And yet with a few words, he insured her family's future and well-being. If she never saw them again, her actions had bought them this....and that price was not too high to pay. Not remotely. She could no longer be certain that he was...bad-hearted. But she had seen anger, coldness, unkindness and mockery. Why did they exist, alongside this consideration and generosity? Suddenly he no longer seemed like the wildcat. Shaking her head, she knew she must drop this train of thought; she lacked information. In the end, she penned a simple letter.

_Ma and Braedon,_

_None of us expected what happened, but it did. I agreed to enter the service of King Thranduil, and have spoken my oath. I was not forced, this was my decision. No one has harmed me in any way; I am being treated very well. Do not worry about me. I love you and miss you both. I have been shown much generosity, the place I am being allowed to live in is very beautiful. Do you remember the box that Da made me sand and varnish over and over all those winters ago, until I cried and told him I would throw it in the fire? It is here, in my room; the King was the one who bought it. Braedon, do not blame yourself for what happened. It was no one's fault. Remember what Da always said, things have a way of working out in the end. Work hard so that Da would be proud, and take care of Ma._

_With all my heart,_

_-Miriel_

There was nothing else to say; she only hoped that reading it would ease their sorrows. Assuming he would read it anyway, she left it on his desk, for the ink to dry, and rose to look at her surroundings with her hands folded in front of her. The room was masculine, bearing the signs of the forest and hunting, decorated in colors of green and red and carven woods. There was a scent in here, as well. His scent. It reminded her of trees and the complex perfume of the forest floor and something that was simply...him. There were books; their bindings written of course in Sindarin. She did not know the letters, and could not put the words to match. Could she secretly learn, somehow? The script was undeniably beautiful, flowing along in sensual curves and elegant lines. As her eye roved around the room, she caught sight of a crown, on a table. It appeared to be made of living wood, with leaves and berries sprouting from it. Her feet remained rooted to the floor. Not knowing when he would return, she did not dare wander around his private home, gawking. In fact, she did not know what to do. The only entirely safe course of action was to sit down again in the chair.

As she watched the illumination play around the room, it suddenly occurred to her; this was an underground fortress, and yet the light streaming in the windows was natural daylight. Her rooms had the same. That meant that these rooms had to be located aboveground, though the temperature was still naturally cool. Did the windows open? She would have to investigate later. The silence and the large meal began to lull her, and she pushed the letter aside so that she might lay her head down on the desk, with her arms as pillows. As she breathed in and out, she memorized his scent until it was written unforgettably in her mind.

She did not know how long she slept, but she woke to hearing a voice. The King's voice, she recognized. Her face was buried in her folded arms, and she did not move but instead listened. He spoke in his language, pouring out resonant tones filled with emotion.

"I am sorry, little huntress, for taking you. But not sorry enough. You will find that I am generous, but selfish too. You cannot understand how alone I am, or what the endless years of bearing the weight of my duties have done to my heart. Your spirit is wild and free, in a way that mine no longer can be. I wanted some of that again, for myself, and you offered it too willingly for me to refuse. My vow to you was a sincere one; you will be cared for in my service. Neither you nor your family will ever want for any necessity. We will hunt, together, that I promise you. And perhaps, one day, you will forgive me for requiring you to share my cage."

Her eyes squeezed shut under the impact of his confession. That she would hunt again, that he would allow it, made her heart soar as much as his words about being caged caused it to tumble again to earth. He was right, she could not understand. She had no frame of reference for his life. Did she want to? That there was more to know, she was certain. And as long as he believed she could not understand his words, she would learn. If she had to pledge her life to him, it did not seem unfair to her that she held a hidden key into the recesses of his thought. _No hunter gives up an advantage_ , she reasoned. _He did not, and neither will I._ Sleep still tugged after the King stopped speaking, and she drifted off again for a time.

Once again, she began to stir, her mind not on anything but the sensation in her neck. Wincing in discomfort, she realized her head had been twisted and an unfortunate angle, and her neck was stiff and painful. Truthfully, she still felt disoriented, and not on account of what he'd said. Having slept very deeply, it felt difficult to re-engage with her surroundings.

 _It serves you right for eating like a hog at the trough_ , she grimaced to herself. Yet she could not really believe her own self-reproach. While she did not starve, neither was there ever enough. Braedon was younger than she, needing more food, and she always gave him some of her own. She reached her hand around, while she raised herself up, trying to knead at the offending set of muscles. _I am never doing that again_ , she thought. A rustling noise behind her reminded her that she was not alone. Feeling considerably more kindly disposed toward her new ruler, but yet cautious, she turned to look. He was watching her, his face kind and pleasant.

"I wondered if you would wake for dinner, Miriel," he said with mild humor. She blinked at him, still trying to reclaim her sensibilities.

"I had not intended to fall asleep, my Lord. I wrote the letter you asked for." She paused. "May I ask you how long I slept?"

"You may," he smiled. "A little over two hours, I would estimate." She nodded. "Thank you." Recalling her manners, she added, "and thank you for the food, my Lord, and for....everything."

His face broke into a full smile, which she had not yet seen. _He is beautiful,_ she thought. _At least, when he is not ugly._ She could not recall ever seeing such a contrast in one face before.

"You are welcome, Miriel."

He stood. "Would you like to see more of your new home?" he invited. "I have some duties to attend to soon, but I have little doubt that you can learn your way around swiftly on your own. I have time to at least show you how to find your way back here."

"Yes, my Lord."

He walked across the room to place his crown on his head, and then courteously offered her his arm. She fought back against feelings that threatened to unsettle her. The sight of him crowned, wearing his kingly robes...what was she doing here? She was utterly common, by contrast. How could she possibly find a way to belong in this place? _It was his decision,_ she reminded herself. _He wanted this. And if he wanted it, all of that just became his problem._ She took his arm, feeling the hard muscle underneath his clothing. _It would be preferable,_ she thought, _to see him in his hunting gear._

As they exited, he informed the guards that she was to be allowed admittance to his rooms at any time, unless he gave a specific order to the contrary. Why would he allow that? So much was becoming completely unfathomable, to her. Including the expanding realization that it was going to become very difficult, as time wore on, to keep in mind all the things she was not supposed to have heard or understood. _Never speak to him without thinking carefully_ , she cautioned herself.

On their walk through the passages, he would stop and turn from time to time, pointing out visual references to her. Eventually they reached his Hall, with his throne. He ensured she saw which passage to take that led away from it. "Most every path leads back here eventually, so if you can find the Hall, you can find your way to the rooms."

"I cannot become lost, my Lord?" she asked.

"If you do, I will find you," he smiled. "Enjoy your exploring." With that, it was understood that she was dismissed.

 _Was that a challenge_ , she wondered? She watched him ascend to his throne. As his back was turned, she withdrew down...some other passage. There were other elves that walked, and she recalled after she saw the first gesture of greeting that they had wordless forms of acknowledgement; she had seen it in Dale. They placed a hand over their heart, and extended it outward, and she returned the same so as to not be rude. She could not afford to attempt to communicate with others much, as it would strain her already taxed need to pretend she could not understand them. It occurred to her that relatively few of them might know Westron...maintaining her ruse would cost her an easy ability to assimilate here...if assimilating was what she was even meant to do. Nice clothes and a full stomach aside, she had no real knowledge of her purpose here, save as some sort of...comfort? amusement? to her King.

She began to take note of alcoves and rooms that seemed to be everywhere. The problem, as she saw it, was twofold. There was a three dimensional element to the caverns; it was difficult to estimate location based on...location. Ascents and descents in the stone floor could be subtle. Unlike in most dwellings she had ever seen, right angles were not often in use; there were curves and twists depending on what the stonecarvers had believed necessary when the caves were delved. And not being outside eliminated much hope of properly orienting herself by the compass. So she wandered, and wandered. There were tunnels and passages, forks. And more forks, and passages. Some rooms were large, and held decorations or tapestries. They portrayed scenes she did not understand, but were beautiful. Then she saw one that caused her to gasp. It was of the King, hunting on his elk. It showed the forest with herds of game running ahead of him. The threads shimmered and were unaccountably lifelike; the images almost seemed to move if she did. How beautiful it is, she thought. She wished to reach out and touch it, but knowing better, did not. There were narrow walkways, high above the main cavern, that went to and fro. Eventually she felt thoroughly lost, but cared not. There were streams and waterfalls here, actually inside the caverns, and she discovered a bench on which one could sit down and look at the water, listening to it. Rays of light shone through hidden places in the cavern roof, turning the mist and spray into rainbows of color. She closed her eyes, and let the mist fall on her face, breathing in the fresh smell of it.

"I enjoy coming here as well." His voice spoke from close behind her.

She did not move, but said only, "It feels like being outside, my Lord." Who knew, how long they sat there. Yet, it was long enough that without her noticing, her clothing had become quite damp. Standing, she realized she was far from warm any longer. It would likely be rude to simply leave, she reasoned. "I believe I should move on, if I may, my Lord." Her tunic had three quarter length sleeves, and gooseflesh covered her arms. Rising, he offered his arm again. Wrapping her hand around it, she was not minding the warmth that his arm gave off. He led her away, which was just as well. She had no idea where she was, but eventually they emerged into his Hall.

"Now you lead," he said, "back to our rooms." The hardest part was finding her way to the throne, as they had emerged to the other side of and above it. Realizing the difficulty, he showed her the shortest path to where she needed to be. Now she flawlessly navigated the rest of the way back. He opened her door for her, indicating she should go inside. Her bow was yet on the table. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward it.

Why would he ask now, and not earlier? "Yes, my Lord."

Turning it over carefully, he admired the craftsmanship. "Where did you get this?" the King inquired.

"My father made it for me."

He gazed on her. "I was unaware that he made weapons," said the King. "And Miriel," he added softly, "I am genuinely sorry for your loss. He was a skilled man, who did fine work."

She nodded, briefly meeting his eyes. "Thank you, my Lord. He did not make many bows. I can only recall one other besides this, which he referred to as the one he learned on."

The King tested the draw weight and found it heavier than expected. Returning the bow to the table, he now examined her arrows, taking note of their length. "You should have more than what is here," he observed. "I will remedy that."

"That is very kind of you, my Lord."

The King frowned. "Your clothes are very wet," he said.

"I will find a way to dry them, my Lord."

"Surely there are other garments?"

"Not like these, my Lord."

Frowning more, he marched to her wardrobe and opened it; many lovely gowns greeted his eyes. He looked back at her, baffled. "Miriel, there are many choices here." A look of dread came over her eyes, and she remained silent. He walked over to her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Miriel, tell me what is wrong," he said kindly.

"They are....dresses, my Lord." At last, it began to dawn on him.

"You have never worn dresses, Miriel?"

"Not since...not really, my Lord."

She felt his fingers come up under her chin, raising her eyes to look at him.

"Not since what, Miriel? I wish to know."

The extremely unpleasant memory that she had long pushed into forgetfulness now flooded back to her. She did not want to answer but knew she must. Her voice sank in volume. "I was young, playing near a stream one day. A much older boy stole up behind me and grabbed me. He pinned me down. He tried to...touch me, under my skirts. But I hit him with a rock and ran away. The next time Ma tried to make me wear a dress I screamed and yelled and threw it into the fireplace. I thought I would be punished for doing this, but nothing was said. She never tried to make me wear another." Though she tried to fight it, a tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke.

He released her face and drew her into his embrace. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him as more tears came.

"What happened to the boy?" the King asked, his voice now very cold with anger.

"He died later on, because of how hard I hit him in the head. They said I killed him. We had to move away because of how much trouble it made for Ma and Da."

His voice was soothing and gentle as she heard it through his chest. "I am sorry, Miriel, for what happened. You understand, none of it was your fault?"

She released him, and stepped back to look up at him. "I did not blame myself, my Lord. I blamed the dress."

As she listened to herself, she now realized how...ridiculous this sounded. "That makes no sense, does it...but I still do not like them. They trip and make free movement impossible, they attract unwanted attention, and it is impossible to hunt in one." 

"Miriel, I am not going to require this of you. We will find you other clothing. But I would be untruthful if I did not say that someday, I would enjoy seeing you wear a dress. You are a beautiful woman, and deserve to appear as one." He released her and opened the door to the bathing room, returning with a stack of clothing. "The problem is solved. Your original items were cleaned and mended, during the afternoon." Smiling, he placed the pile on her bed. "I take my leave of you now; I will return for you when it is time for the next meal."

When she heard the outer door close, she wasted no time removing the damp garments and slipping into her comfortable dry ones. Whoever they were, they had done a magnificent job. The deerskin looked like it did the day she had pieced it together. All of the items now looked as new, really. She laid out the damp ones carefully to dry, on racks in the bathing room. And she closed the wardrobe door, so as to not have to look at the gowns.

Flopping back on the bed, she tried to process the multiple improbable things that had just occurred.

As if it were a checklist, she ticked off the observations: _He easily convinced me to give up a difficult and private memory. Not that I had a choice. I actually cried in front of him. I returned his embrace? He thinks I am beautiful?_

A groan of annoyance escaped her lips. _I need to hunt, she thought. I am going to go mad in here. Already I am behaving like someone I do not recognize._ Springing onto her feet, she went to the window that admitted so much of the daylight. The mechanism was not one she has seen before, but she managed to puzzle out how to open it, allowing the large tinted glass pane to swing inward. Leaning out, she reveled in the sight. The trunks of tall trees were but ten feet away from her; their canopy spare enough to admit plentiful light. If she were to guess, they were perhaps twenty five feet off the ground; the rock face was sheer to the ground, under the window. With relish she thought, _it is my own private entrance and exit._

Perhaps no one else would have thought thus, but most others lacked her skill at climbing. In her hunting bag she kept two items of her own creation. In their travels to Dale, she had met fisherfolk that had kindly taken the time to show her many knots, bends and weaves of a clever nature. From her hunting, she had amassed large amounts of sinew that she prepared into long cords of great strength, over the years. The first device had a steel grappling hook attached to about thirty-five feet of sinew cord. She modified the grapple so that one of the three flukes was blunt, another sharply pointed, and the third somewhere in between. At intervals, measured to her height, five inch wooden pieces of an ellipsoid shape were secured by the cord. It resembled many tiny batard bread loaves, all along a length of sinew. Each wooden piece was carefully wrapped in cloth, that in turn was glued in place by mariner's tar. This creation provided her a light, weatherproof retractable ladder that would produce no sounds from touching other objects. It only needed to have the hook be attached to a secure mounting, and she could scale up and down the line with practiced ease by using the wooden pieces for hand and foot holds. The other device was considerably less elaborate; it was simply a twenty foot section of wormed, parceled and served line, with large yet flexible eye splices on each end. The eyes were adaptable for many purposes. She could double them over a tree branch for a secure hold, loop them to make a truss for carrying game, use it to scale a tree trunk; she could not even recall the many uses to which she'd put these things.

It was impossible to miss the decorative steel ring embedded deep into the stone of the wall, right under the windowsill. Her heart felt light. When she must feel the earth under her feet, it was readily available. After fastening the window, she sat in all the chairs, one by one, until she found one she liked best. Hooking her leg over the armrest, she slouched back and imagined enjoying the trees, by moonlight. Perhaps she might find a suitable piece of fallen wood. While Miriel had never taken to woodworking the way her father and brother had, she had often occupied herself with carving and whittling. Some of the knives in her bag were not strictly for skinning game; she might occupy the long hours waiting for prey to come along by making assorted miniature animals. Many of her creations were remarkably good; even Da had complimented the better ones. The King had been very kind to her; maybe he would enjoy a diminutive wooden elk. Her thoughts drifted along thus, happily.

As she heard the door latch click, she rose out of her chair. At seeing her waiting, the King smiled. Unthinkingly, she smiled back. "Come," he said, gesturing for her to walk past him, and directing her once again into his rooms to the dining table. "I trust you are hungry?" He asked the question without a hint of sarcasm in his voice, though she could not have blamed him if he had chosen to tease her.

She paused to look at him. "Yes, my Lord. If I cannot take food, you may begin to worry about me."

Looking down at her and seeing that she was poking fun at herself, he chuckled. "Duly noted."

Once again he served her food, and this time without asking, poured her a bowl of wine. _What would Ma and Da say, to see this_ , she wondered. _How did she deserve to be waited on by a King?_ It seemed completely absurd. She thanked him, and waited until he began eating to touch her own food. The cutlery seemed slightly less intimidating this time, though she still carefully watched and copied what he did. In the same manner, she did not drink any wine until she observed exactly the manner in which he did this. The food was delicious, and she steadily demolished what he had served her.

His question broke the silence."Your clothing is of deerskin?"

"Yes, my Lord. From two different stags."

"You made these?" A hint of being favorably impressed colored his tone.

She nodded. "It is quite a process, and I will not claim that tanning is my favorite hobby. But I do not believe in wasting any part of the animal for which I can find a use. And, these are very nice to wear."

"Would you tell me, how you prepare the hides?"

Smiling, she said, "I am glad to, trusting that you will stop me before your eyes can glaze over from the weariness of listening. I was forbidden to speak of anything having to do with deer at home, because of being too enthusiastic."

"Miriel, I do not believe you will ever find me tire of anything to do with game and hunting. But in the unlikely event, rest assured I can care for myself."

On hearing this, a dazzling smile washed over her face. He was struck by her loveliness, and the way her already jewel-like eyes came to life as she spoke of what she loved. It was hard for him to believe that this was the same person who had not spoken a word to him most of the morning, as she chattered away about the good results of tanning with brains, her favorite method of stretching and scraping hides, and the relative merits of different patterns for skinning the deer.

As their meal concluded, he invited her to sit with him on a couch near the fire, where the conversation turned to what game was like in his forest a very long time ago, and how his father had first taught him to hunt. Listening, fascinated, she realized how long he must have lived, already. His eyes shone with a light she had not yet seen, as he spoke of these things. She had never met another whose heart echoed her own thoughts and feelings in this manner. With guilt, she now realized that while she loved Ma and Braedon, the only place she wished to be was in this room, having this conversation. Contentment filled her. With her head full of new tales, he finally told her "It is time for you to rest, Miriel."

She smiled, and inclined her head to him. "Thank you, my Lord. I have not enjoyed conversing this much in...." she shook her head, unable to locate a time frame. Because there was none; this had been the best discussion of her life. He saw her to her door, and bade her goodnight. But she was not tired. If anything, the words they exchanged escalated the desire to be out on the woods. Unlatching the window once again, she looked out. The moon was not long risen in the east, and the light was strong. She donned her cloak, gathered her hunting equipment, and carefully attached the grapple to the steel ring. She added a twine reinforcement, to ensure the hook could not come free off the ring, and found a small cloth with which to wrap the ring itself. It would not do to have it making a clanking sound. Everything she did was always to ensure stealth and silence. She lowered her ladder, checked that her gear was secured and with only the lightest of brushing sounds, swiftly descended. Before she departed, she marked the exact position of the outer walls against the visible constellations, committing them to memory. This was her backup, in the event she became disoriented. Silently, she moved off into the trees, slipping from one to the other like a wraith.

Unobserved by her, Thranduil had his own window open, and was enjoying the same sight of the moon over the forest. His sensitive ears caught the soft noise, and he frowned, never having heard the sound before. Walking across the rooms to the table at his bedside, he raised up a small and very ornate mirror. "Show me Miriel," he commanded. All he needed to see was the hooded figure moving through the trees. Carefully returning it, he threw down his elaborate outer robes, even as he grabbed his hunting cloak from its peg. His sword he buckled to his belt, as he strode across the room. A tree stood but five feet from his own window; for centuries he had taken advantage of this escape as well. That she would have a similar skill had not dawned on him.

He did not know yet how to feel about her exit, because he did not know her motive. For her sake, he sincerely hoped she was not running from him. The mere thought of this was enough to begin stirring his anger, but he forced it down. He smirked. Tonight, she was his quarry. With a sense of elation, he began to track her.

Flitting on for hundreds of yards, she saw the tree canopy becoming dense, and decided to take to the heights. She had never told Ma and Da about this, they would have never survived the knowledge. She donned her half gloves and quickly wrapped her band of line around a suitable trunk and propelled herself upward, using the strap as a brace. Soon she was in the lower canopy, and now could look for suitable branches to simply hop from tree to tree. As a safety measure, she always ensured there was more than one target branch across from her, in case one broke or in case she somehow missed her jump. She spotted a beautiful conifer, near a clearing, and felt it call out to her. That would be her perch. There had been no intention of roaming far tonight; she only wished to be in the forest. Arriving at the branch she found desirable, she seated herself much as she would on a park bench; the branch below her made a nice rest for her feet. She looped her line over the branch above her, and now had a pleasant handhold. Sighing inaudibly with comfort, she pulled her hood over her golden hair and wrapped her cloak around her. Relaxing her body, she opened her mind to the sounds and scents around her. She could not remember ever being this happy.

Thranduil tracked her easily until her trail suddenly vanished at a tree, and did not understand. Reaching out with his mind, he sought her. She moved through the canopies, he saw, fascinated. He listened to catch the faintest rustlings, able to follow from below. His connection to his forest was undeniably magical; he was its guardian, and his awareness infused the length and breadth of it. Like a shadow himself, he eventually located her. That it had been any effort at all to do so spoke of her phenomenal skill in the woods. With relief, he confirmed that she was not seeking escape. Though he should probably forbid her these outings, a part of him did not have the heart. Was this not why he had wanted her? He had searched her thoughts, and she was here for the exact same reason he was now thoroughly enjoying himself. He watched her as she sat, immobile, for perhaps twenty minutes when a noise came in the distance, drawing near. A buck, the magnificence of which she had never seen, staggered into the clearing, and collapsed. Even in the moonlight, she could see the arrow protruding from its hip. The animal's sides were heaving.

Filled with pity, Miriel pulled the line from the branch above her and silently dropped on her feet to the lowest limb, still about seventeen feet up. Looping the line around that one she jumped backward off the branch, hard. For a moment, Thranduil's heart caught in his throat; she could not survive that fall without injury. In the dark, even his eyes could not make out the cord. But when he saw her swing in the air, he realized something was there. As her momentum carried her forward, she released one loop and somersaulted to land on her feet, coiling the trailing line swiftly into her hands and returning it to her pouch. She approached the animal cautiously, from the rear. Making very low, soothing sounds, she kept her eye warily on its large rack of antlers, which had many points. The wound was festering.

And yet he had a strong heartbeat. Closing her eyes, she knew she had to try. "It is not your time yet, old one," she whispered. "I will do my best." Reaching into her bag, she retrieved the carven box she carried, that was carefully overlain with leather. She kept it as full of dried athelas as was possible, at all times. Thinking her most soothing thoughts with her hands on the animal, she began to gently cram the dried herb into the wound. She felt his muscles tremble at her touch but thought as hard as she could, _cuio, cuio, cuio. Live, old one, it is not your time._ There were times it felt right, to use Sindarin words. She braced her fingers against the side of the arrow shaft, and in one clean pull tore it from the wound, casting it aside. Until she had stuffed every last grain of athelas into the wound, she did not stop. As the animal continued to breathe heavily in pain beneath her, she placed both her hands over its injury and thought again and again in her mind, asking it to live, to heal. A golden sheen surrounded her as she worked. A moment came when she sensed she could do no more, it was now up to the spirit of the stag. She put her box away, and took the arrow. Rising and stepping backward, she carefully came around to face it, at a respectful distance. "Please," she whispered. "It is not your time."

The stag lurched to his feet, letting out a powerful bellow. She bowed slowly to it, then turned and departed. It was long past time to return. Just before she left the clearing, she spotted a chunk of fallen wood that she believed would suit her purposes for carving. She placed it in her pouch, and disappeared into the trees.

Thranduil's lips were parted in astonishment at the spectacle he had witnessed. But he had no time to think on it, as he needed to follow. She ran back more with speed than stealth, though her passing made no sound. While she emerged a little off course from where she meant to, the convenient glow of firelight from Thranduil's window clarified her error. As she came underneath, she halted. Thranduil's _open_ window.

Turning to face the woods, she said in a voice softer than normal speech but louder than a whisper. "My Lord." A tall figure emerged from the shadows very close by, and approached her. "Am I correct in assuming that any attempt to send you to bed in the next hour is futile?"

She smiled. "You could command it, and I would obey, but I would not sleep. Not for awhile, at least."

"Then go up", he gestured to his window. She pulled out her cord, and in a matter of seconds was up the tree. It was an easy jump into his open window. Before she finished coiling the line, he was at her side.

"May I see that?" he asked.

She handed it to him, and he examined it.

"Perhaps at another time, you will show me the use of this," he said, returning it.

There was a silence, as they regarded each other.

"What is it you wish to know, Miriel?"

"It is not my place to ask questions of you, my Lord."

"And yet, I am offering you the opportunity to do so," he said, his face unreadable .

"Two things, then. How did you know I left, and, should I ask your pardon for having done so?"

He smiled. "Little escapes my notice, Miriel. Though the manner of your leaving would have been undetectable to anyone else, I heard you descend from your window. And no, you do not need to ask my forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong. That being said, I followed you in part because my forest is not entirely safe. While your abilities are exceptional, you are my responsibility now. I will not command you in this, but I will ask you to understand that if you go, you likely compel me to follow."

"Yes, my Lord." She now recalled the arrow taken from the buck, and retrieved it from her quiver. It was ugly, and black. He held out his hand for it, and she gave it to him. He saw her own bloodstained hands, and brought her to a basin to wash. She noted his kindness, as he poured the water for her while she scrubbed her fingers clean.

"Now it is my turn," said the King. "Where did you learn the skills I witnessed tonight? "

"From doing, my Lord. How I move around has...evolved, over time, as I learned and tried different ideas. On trips to Dale with Da, I learned from the fisherfolk about their use of line and what things were possible on account of it. They taught me their art, and I adapted it for tracking and hunting. If you are asking if anyone taught me, the answer is No."

"You were never taught to hunt?" he asked, incredulous.

"Only from those who hunt themselves, my Lord. The fox, the wildcat, the wolf and the bear all have mothers to teach them. And I, in turn, had them."

There was more he wished to learn, much more. But he also wished to reflect. "That is all, for now, Miriel. I wish you to rest. Come. I am sorry to not have you use the door, but I am sure you can understand wishing to keep this means of coming and going a secret. Even my guards do not know," he said, as his face split into a broad smile.

"I do know, my Lord," she said, grinning. In a flash she was back out the window, leaping easily into the tree and hopping down its branches. The lowest was only ten feet up, so she simply swung off of it and landed on her feet in a crouch. He followed swiftly. "Now allow me the amusement of seeing how you return", he said to her. "Good night, Miriel."

"Good night, my Lord." Turning away, she sprang swiftly up the wooden bits in her line, ascending the stone wall of the Palace. He watched as the creation silently disappeared into the window, that then closed. Smiling and shaking his head, he returned to his own rooms and prepared for rest.


	3. Three

The following morning, the King's soft knock at her door went unanswered. Admitting himself and entering quietly, he found her still asleep. He stole to the side of her bed and seated himself, enjoying the opportunity to look on her unnoticed. She slept on her side, with her arms wrapped around the feather pillow as though she had done battle with it in the night, he thought with amusement. Her slightly hollow cheeks spoke of the lack of nourishment she'd experienced; a problem he would soon remedy. Her face was a pleasing one, he thought, even with her eyes closed. But when they were open, her loveliness was compelling. _Miriel,_ he thought, _Jewel_. _Whoever had named her had chosen well, for her eyes are amethysts. And why an elvish name_ , he wondered? And yet, she cared not for appearances. She was not like other females he had ever met; human or elf-kind. That was apparent when first he laid eyes on her. Most were too afraid of him, to look him in the eye or converse.

As his gaze roved over her, he noticed that for the first time, her hair barely covered her ear. His lips parted as he realized that the edge of it was damaged. Where his own came to delicate points, hers appeared to have been cut. The cartilage was gone, much as if someone had placed her on a cutting board and simply brought a sharp knife down on it. How had this happened to her? It was beginning to seem like too many things had happened to her.

 _And now, I have happened to her_ , he thought to himself. _And what will happen at the end of the matter?_ He sighed. This time, perhaps, his selfishness had run away with his common sense. But was he not King? Come what may, he would fulfill his duty to her. The rest, he realized, would likely be up to her. He smiled. While he was reasonably sure she had not known love, she understood the hunt, and the chase. And that he already cared for her a great deal, he was certain. It was not possible for someone to hide their true nature from him; the ability to know the character of another was a necessity for his station.

"Miriel," he called softly. "Miriel, it is time for you to rise."

Her eyes flew open at hearing his voice. Momentarily, she was disoriented. This was her first time, waking in this place. As she turned to look at him, everything flooded back, and she managed a half smile. "My Lord."

"Breakfast will come soon, Miriel. Ready yourself and join me, please."

The hunger she already felt in her empty stomach after last night's exercise provided added motivation. "Yes, my Lord."

He withdrew, and she hurried out of bed, wondering how much she had overslept. It was usual for her to wake at daybreak, but a glance at the amount of sunlight streaming into her window informed her that she had far exceeded that hour. The garments that had become damp yesterday had dried, free of wrinkles, so she dressed in those. Her still woven hair was tangled from sleep, and she shook it out as quickly as possible and combed it. For now, it could be left unbound. It occurred to her to verify her appearance in a mirror, recalling her interaction with the buck last night. There were no bloodstains on her face or wrist, so it was well enough. Arriving at his door, she felt slightly awkward, not knowing if she should knock or not. As she raised her fist to do so, one of the guards abruptly opened it for her and gestured her inside, not meeting her eyes.

 _They are very formal_ , she thought. It dawned on her that it must be very unusual, for her to be interacting with the King as much as she seemed to be. But what did she expect? He'd said more or less that she was to be a pet, a companion. She counted herself more or less fortunate. If he allowed her the forest, little else mattered. And he had been kind, and a gentleman. His back was turned to her, at his writing desk. As she waited on him, she looked around more. Being in here was a treat, she thought. It was how she imagined the hunting lodge of a great lord might look. The bright light filtered through the tinted windows, that she now saw were forest scenes. The jewel-like colors of the glass were beautiful, she thought.

Finishing his work, he rose. "Good morning, my Lord. I apologize for oversleeping," she offered.

He smiled. "I could imagine that you were tired from the evening."

"It was not much running or climbing, my Lord, for me."

"That was not what I had in mind, Miriel. Most who can heal find it to be quite draining. And I am very curious to learn how you healed the buck. You told me earlier, that you were not familiar with elvish healing."

Confusion washed over her features. _Elvish healing?_ "You are asking what I do, my Lord?"

He frowned, and some annoyance crept into his tone. "It is not a complicated question, Miriel."

"With respect, my Lord, it is, to me. I do not know how it works. I have never known. I only know that it....does, most of the time. Nor do I understand what elvish healing has to do with it."

He sighed. "I will ask differently, then. Please describe to me, in detail, your interaction with the buck." Her features changed, now that she had something she could understand how to answer.

"I will do my best, my Lord. The animal came into the clearing, and it was failing from its injury. I know it may sound foolish, but there are times my heart tells me to try to save the same kinds of animals I would ordinarily seek to kill. And that is what I felt, when I saw the buck. When I went close, I saw that the wound was festering. But his heart yet had strength. I do not know how to explain, it is something that I feel, or know, though I cannot tell you how. I always keep a dried plant called athelas in my bag. I was told long ago that it could help heal, and I found it to be true. Whenever I use it, I push the plant into the injury, and then...." her face twisted up, trying to find words for what came next.

"Go on, Miriel," he said gently.

"I talk to the animal, mostly in my head though. Or maybe I am not talking to it at all, but thinking something. It is not always the same words. Something comes to me, that should be said, and I say it. Often many times, repeating the same thing. Last night, it was asking the animal to choose to live. I usually touch the injury, because it feels right to do so. I close my eyes and keep thinking, and then there comes a point where there is a sense that there is no more to be done. So I stop. It either helps the creature, or it does not."

He nodded, searching her eyes. "How did you know about athelas, Miriel"?

She smiled. "On the trips to Dale with Da, there was time to listen to many people and what they spoke of. One day I overheard some men talking about the elves and that they used this plant when they healed. Is that what you meant, my Lord? I remembered the name, but I did not know what it was. But Ma did, and eventually she showed it to me. Apparently it is called by other names, as well. So I saved it when I found it, and one day I found an injured bird. I did much as I did now, and the bird was able to fly away."

"And who taught you what to do?", Thranduil asked.

"Nobody, my Lord. I cannot explain this to you. It seemed like what I should do, and I did it." She paused, looking up to him. "Have I done wrong?"

"No, Miriel, you have not done wrong. Thank you, for your explanation. Perhaps you would like to eat, now?"

She nodded, having forgotten how hungry she was. He led her to a well-laid table, with every possible kind of breakfast food, and again held her chair for her. "What would you like to have, Miriel?" he asked. A red flush spread across her cheeks. "I see," he said kindly, and began to heap her plate with some of all of it. As he did so, he said very kindly, "Miriel, I am well aware that you have not had enough food to eat, prior to now. There is no need to feel embarrassed for your hunger. I am glad, to be able to see that you have enough, and more. Your body will be restored, soon, and you will not feel such a strong need for food."

The eyes that looked up at him were filled with far more gratitude than the simple thanks she gave. He provided her with a cup of hot, fragrant tea as well, before serving and seating himself. He noticed that she would not touch her food before he began eating, in spite of how hungry he knew she was. He accepted the respect she showed, and it pleased him. When she had eaten her fill, he pulled her chair back for her, and asked her to follow him into the bright sunlight of the other end of the room. Positioning her, he said "Hold still, Miriel." She felt his hands come up and push her hair back from her ears. Her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, but she did not move. He carefully examined them, and found that they were left uneven, confirming for him that this had been done to her as opposed to being some strange accident of birth. Her intense discomfort was obvious.

With great gentleness, he said "Can you tell me Miriel, how this happened to you, or when?" She shook her head No. "You have no memories of it ever being different?" he asked, on a guess. Again, she shook her head No. "Do not be afraid, Miriel. You are safe with me, and you need not feel you have anything to hide. Come here." He drew her into his embrace, and she did feel safe. And once again, without realizing it, she wrapped her arms around him. The humiliation she felt at his having seen melted away as he soothed her. And then he spoke, in Sindarin. "You would be beautiful to me no matter what, little one. Your heart is what I see, more than your appearance, which is fair in my eyes." She closed her eyes, and released her hold on him. He kissed her softly on her forehead, and let her go.

"In these next few days, I have many duties, Miriel. I will come here to eat with you, though, regardless of them. You may spend your time here, in your own rooms, or in the palace. Do not go out the windows during daylight, if only so that no patrol or guard can accidentally see your method of departure. If you wish, you may go outside through the main gates, if you would stay within sight of the Palace. I have yet to explain the dangers of the woods. Wait, until I can do this with you."

"I will do as you ask, my Lord. Thank you."

He walked to the small table where his crown rested, and placed it on his head prior to leaving. Miriel saw in his eyes that he would rather stay here, but that he could not. She could not help, and felt a bit sorry for him. Then again, prior to a day ago, her own life had been no different; it was a constant struggle to work and do her own duty to her family. It was incredibly odd, to suddenly be surrounded by ease and luxury. For now, she returned to her own rooms, if only to enjoy some of that luxury in the form of a bath with no time constraints.

Today she explored the bathing room in earnest, opening every bottle of scented liquid. What seemed like a hundred items later, she had smelled all of them, and rearranged the layout so that the ones she liked best were corralled in a particular area. How long she soaked in the hot water, she had no idea, nor did she care. This was the first time in her life she had ever had such an opportunity, and it was wonderful. Finally emerging, she wove her hair back into her usual loose herringbone. She looked over at the wardrobe, and opened it. There sat the many choices of dresses. Could she actually wear one, without having the terrible feelings? It had been hard to have to tell him, but she felt...different, now. And he said he would like to see her wear one. Surely there was no harm, in simply trying one on? Some were brighter colors, for which she did not care. But one was a radiant green, that reminded her of the new growth on trees in the springtime. She brought it out, and carefully wormed her way into it, pulling the assorted lacings tightly closed as they were meant to be. The front was fitted, and showed the contours of her full breasts. And yet it was modest. She did not like the way her bare legs felt underneath it, but then the idea came to her to simply put her leggings back on, and hitch them up a little so that they would not show. This felt secure; the cloth covering her legs and hips felt...reassuring.

Walking to the mirror, she looked at herself for a long time. No feeling of panic came, nor was she threatening to cry. She sighed. For him, she would try. There were some dainty slipper-things she found that matched for color, but felt absolutely ridiculous to wear. And yet, she only intended to sit near his fire and begin her wood carving. Rolling her eyes, she left them on her feet, and took her pouch with her to return to his rooms. Once again, the guard admitted her. Part of her very badly wanted to ask them their names and converse a little to ease what she thought was a ridiculous degree of attentiveness to a door, but she could not. How long would she keep on pretending, she wondered? Already, she felt a little guilty. _Be cautious_ , she told herself. _You have known him for a day. When a day is weeks, and months, and you are sure of his character, then rethink your secret._ But he wasn't anyone, he was her King, and she had sworn her fealty to him. It felt wrong, on some level, to hear his deepest thoughts without his express knowledge. Then again, why was he speaking at all? When she wanted privacy, she kept her mouth shut. She shrugged. Perhaps she would talk to herself too, if she had to bear all of his duties.

Making her way to the fireplace, she added some wood, and retrieved the piece she'd found last night. Working at the hearth, while less than completely comfortable, allowed her easy disposal of all the assorted wood chips. Very conveniently, a tapestry with an image of the elk hung on the wall behind her. This provided a visual reference of proportions so that she did not have to think quite so hard on her memory of the animal, though it would have sufficed. For some time, she simply considered the piece of wood carefully. It was a sizable chunk of birch, and after a time, she could see the shape of the elk in it. The antlers would have to be done last, and would fit into the rest of the carving on pegs. It would have to be balanced, too; the antlers would add weight that would tip the piece forward, if she was not careful. Removing her carving knife and small sharpening stone, she began what would be a great many monotonous hours of making tiny wood chips. From time to time, she cleaned up all the mess and tossed it into the fire, only to begin again. When her shoulders ached and she desperately needed to sit elsewhere, she cleaned it all up, including the myriad tiny chips on the dress, and put everything back in her bag. Sitting on the comfortable couch, she slouched back, enjoying the warmth. To her chagrin, she began to feel sleepy again. It was a certainty, that she was doomed to slumber after she ate the next meal.

It was difficult to mind that, either. It had been tiring at home; the constant chores to try and help Ma, and the pressure to spend long, alert hours hunting. Just as she never ate enough, she had not often sleep enough either. She was being gifted a chance to restore herself, so why feel badly about it? Lulled by the pleasant crackle of the flames, her head fell to the side and she was soon asleep again.

When Thranduil returned, he was pleasantly surprised that she had chosen to stay in his rooms, seeing her golden hair near the fire. But not as pleasantly surprised as when he stepped around to look on her. He knew there was only one reason she would have worn a dress, and he felt a tug at his heart. She was a feast for the eyes. Confused, he took note of her full figure. _Where had that come from?_ She'd shown no curves earlier, and he was mystified. He could not exactly ask her, either. Certain things were off limits, King or not, unless he someday earned a far greater privilege. He sighed. As much as he would like to let his gaze linger here, he only had so much time to share the meal with her before he must return to his obligations. He sat next to her.

"Miriel? Miriel, it is time to eat. Can you wake up?"

She heard his voice, and sat upright, looking at him. Flushing red, she fixed her eyes on him that tried to blink back sleep. "I really do usually do more than sleep and eat, my Lord. Please excuse this."

Laughing, he stood and offered her his hand. "I do not mind, Miriel; I wish to see you rest. And eat." He seated her at the table, bending down to say, "Your appearance is lovely. I thank you, for wearing this." Her cheeks flushed pink that he had noticed. But, of course he had noticed, hadn’t that been the point of wearing it? She fought down the discomfort that tried to surface from the simple compliment. _He meant it kindly and sincerely_ , she told herself. _Just accept it._

“You are welcome, my Lord,” she whispered. Once again, she was very hungry, and he filled her plate twice, and insisted on her taking wine, with ulterior motives.

Afterward, he encouraged her to sit again on the couch. "Wait here, " he said.

He returned with a pillow and a blanket, insisting she put her feet up as he arranged her to lie down and covered her. "Your meal and the wine will pull you to sleep again, soon enough. Rest comfortably. I enjoyed seeing you greatly, and will return when I can."

"You have shown me great kindness, my Lord. Thank you." He was right, she already was growing drowsy. The room was still, and the pillow smelled wonderfully of...him. Burying her face in it, she slept yet again, and very deeply.

At one point, she dreamed.

_She was at home with Ma, when a knock came at the door. To her distaste, it was Morden. A local man who thought a great deal of himself, he had proved to be an off and on source of harassment to Miriel for some years now. He swaggered into their home, sneering at the poor accommodations. After greeting Ma in an unctuous fashion, he asked to speak with Miriel outside. She shook him off as he attempted to take her arm, instead using his body to herd her toward their meager garden and shed. Smiling arrogantly, he told her he had a proposition she might like to hear, concerning how she might help her mother and brother. Deeply suspicious, she nonetheless listened. He more or less told her that if she agreed to the great honor of marrying him, he would take care of all her family. That he had the means to do so, she had no doubt. He was spoiled, entitled, and bad-hearted. With great effort, she politely began to decline his offer when he suddenly grabbed her and crushed his lips to hers, while his hands began to rove toward the front of her tunic. Her face contorted in anger, and she hauled back and hit him across the nose with all of her strength, and a scream of rage._

She woke in a cloud of red hot anger, to find her fist held securely in the hand of the King as she gasped for air. He said nothing, as he gave her time to adjust, and realize where she was. When she relaxed, he no longer held her hand tightly, but kept it in his. "It was a dream," he said softly, "you are safe, Miriel. Though, I am not so certain about the outcome for whomever was the recipient of your anger." A sparkle of mirth played across his features, and she chuckled in spite of herself.

"True enough, my Lord."

"Would you tell me, what happened?" he asked. She returned the pressure of his hand, as she told him the story. "He comes from a family of some means, but spends his time drinking and fancying himself a hunter. The only stags he can bring down are the ones that are driven to run in front of him and bribed to hold still with a barrel of apples," she hissed in contempt. "And when he did that to me, his nose was broken. That is to say, I broke his nose. Many of his friends were nearby, to witness what he hoped would be his conquest. I made an enemy, but I am not sorry. This happened only eight days ago. I would imagine he yet has black eyes." She paused. "I was very angry."

He laughed. "I would have given much to see that, Miriel."

She smiled, and then laughed. "I do not think I am an unkind person, but come to think of it, a string of men walk this world with injuries from having attempted similar."

They conversed about many things, for some time. He admired her carved pendant, and asked about it.

She inquired whether he would tell her of the sorts of things he did when he was gone, and he explained some of them. And that it would take many discussions, to tell her all of it.

"I would enjoy, to hear more about you, my Lord, if you wish to tell it." Surprised at this, he divulged some mundane details to her, but used such trifles to turn the discussion back to her.

"Do you know your age, Miriel?"

Shaking her head No, she gave him a guess of twenty five to thirty. "How young I must seem, to you," she said.

"Yes, but that is part of why you are so remarkable. I actually had to expend some effort, to track you last night. Have you any idea, of the last time anyone accomplished that?"

"Clearly it was not last month," she said, teasing. "Now I must seek to elude you entirely; I have a new goal. Last night, I did not consider thwarting any pursuit."

His eyes flared at the challenge. "That is a temptation I might not be able to resist. Though I warn you, I have several unfair advantages."

She tilted her head as she looked at him, smiling. "If the rumors are true, you have many abilities a mortal such as myself does not."

There was a pause, and he rose from the couch and paced toward the windows, his back to her, as he once again indulged in his favorite idiosyncrasy. He spoke very softly, in Sindarin, "But therein lies the problem, young one. I am not certain you are mortal at all. Mortals cannot heal with the ability of the Eldar. You are a mystery. And I quite wonder what I would find, should I choose to heal your ears. Yet I will not burden you with so much, so soon. I would rather chase you through the forest, which sounds far more enjoyable."

Miriel was eternally grateful that he was not facing her, because she could not stop a reaction to his words, though she recovered very quickly. He believed her to be one of his kind? She had to navigate out of these waters, quickly.

"My Lord?"

He turned to her again, smiling. "Yes?"

Miriel picked up the original topic of conversation as though nothing odd had just occurred. "Even if your abilities outmatch my own, I would nonetheless enjoy such a contest very much. And I would like to learn whatever you would be willing to teach me. There is always more to know. Surely not all of your skills are on account of being a mighty Elvenking?"

He laughed. "I think we will manage something. Several somethings, undoubtedly. And if I am not mistaken, I might learn a few tricks from you as well."

"Perhaps, my Lord. But only after I elude you."


	4. Four

Some many days were spent in a largely predictable pattern of whittling, overeating, oversleeping, and spending time with the King. Her body seemed to want it very much, and she did not fight it. Sometimes she walked, to better learn the Palace, and had found several routes by which to navigate to certain destinations. It felt like an achievement, to have any ability to understand the complex warren of his caverns. Once or twice she visited the forest briefly, at night, mostly to seek out the athelas by which she could replace her stores. She went late, well after bedtime, and did not know whether the King followed her or not; she had no interest in making games of it.

As he had promised, new clothing was made, of a kind she preferred far more. Some of the pieces were between a dress and her customary leggings and tunic, with split skirts that did not trail the floor. These allowed for complete freedom of movement, while still appearing more feminine. She felt stronger, and filled with vigor after this time. It was as if a constant drain had previously been set upon her, one that she could never replenish. The King noticed that her cheeks had filled out more, with an appearance of fuller health. Her beauty increased, and she became more appealing than ever, in his eyes.

One day, they breakfasted, and afterward he declared to her that they were going into the forest. She was instructed to change to her hunting gear. Excitedly, she returned to her rooms to change, barely remembering to store her carving knives and unfinished wooden elk elsewhere than in her pouch. Often now she left her hair loose, and she quickly wove it as she would for the forest. Returning to his rooms, she found him clothed as she had seen him on the day he took her. The sight startled her, a bit, as she realized how much had changed in such a small span of time.

"I have a gift for you, Miriel," he said. He gestured to a small table, where nearly two dozen arrows lay. They were very finely made, and perfectly balanced. Their tips were razor sharp, and the fletching was perfect. They were the finest she had ever seen, and she thanked him profusely as she added them to her quiver; she had never even had ten at one time. This was unprecedented bounty, to her.

Offering her his arm, they departed.

Once again she heard him whistle for the elk near the stables, and this time she watched as he adjusted the harness and saddle buckles. Miriel drank in the sight of the animal as she waited, noting again the details that would help in her carving. As she watched him spring up into the saddle effortlessly, she realized she would like to try it herself, sometime. His offered hand raised her up to sit in front of him, as before. Remembering, she removed her bow, reversing how she usually wore it so that the string was at her back, and not the wooden recurve. Her eyes shone in anticipation of the ride and the outing. She could barely fathom her feelings. Not two weeks ago, she was being taken to what she believed was certain imprisonment or hard servitude. And now, her heart would tear if he required her to return. There was confusion in her; had she really loved Ma and Braedon at all, to be so indifferent to being parted from them? No, she did love them. And she also knew the King had cared for them, and that they were far better off in this world because of having lost her.

They rode out for a long way at a walk, as she admired the sight of the autumn trees shedding their now golden leaves. The sight of the many birch enchanted her; the tall white of their trunks against the greens and darker hues of the conifers. There was pressure at her back, as the King leaned forward more, asking the elk to take them to a destination whose description she did not understand. His arm came around her, holding her to him as he did last time, before the elk sprang into a run. As the days had worn on, the walls around her heart had been cracking quicker than she cared to admit. The degree to which the feel of his arm around her pleased her brought a realization that could no longer be ignored. She had developed sincere and deep affection for him. If his treatment of her had been in any way to deceive or manipulate her, then it had succeeded. But as she had listened to him speak for long hours, it became more and more difficult to continue suspecting that something like this might be the case. His sense of honor, and duty to those he was bound to, seemed to consume him. In the odd moments he would speak some private thought aloud in Sindarin, the impression came over her more and more that his having taken her as a companion was an impulsive decision, and a lone aberration in a very long life.

Perhaps she should be offended to have been...used, in this manner, but it did not feel like usage. Moreover, he shared the deepest place in her heart. There had never been another, that would speak of the woods and the joy of hunting, using the same words as she did in her innermost thoughts. He had shown her chaste affection, and had not refrained from touching her in small ways and comforting her. She did not believe she was mistaken in her assessment that he had feelings toward her, as well. If she did err, the small test that came to mind would soon reveal any wrong in her thinking. These thoughts filled her head, as her left hand came up to hold onto his arm as the elk ran. But she did not leave it there, once she had adjusted to the motion. She slid her arm along his, to cover the back of his hand that held her. She rested her fingers so that each one lay over the small gaps between his own. It was her way of asking, and offering, the first small opening of a doorway to more between them, if he wished it. With gratitude, she felt his fingers part further, allowing her to press her fingers down in between his. She felt him change the angle of his hand, so that his long fingertips lifted and curled over hers. She smiled, happy that he had accepted. What she did not expect was for his other arm to come around her as well. With her remaining hand, she held onto that arm too, riding down the track in his embrace.

Her heart did not flutter or lurch, but rather a sense of deep contentment came over her, as though this was the most natural and ordinary thing. And in that moment, guilt tapped at her heart. It was no longer right, that she withhold secrets from him. If he was returning her affection, he must be told. She hoped there would not be a difficult consequence. If there was, she would have to face it. It was not in her nature to take advantage of the heart of another. What had begun as a contest of wills in which she believed she must retain any advantage had become something else, entirely. If they were to go forward, even if it was only for the shortest of distances, it must be with nothing between them.

They rode on for a long time, as she once again feasted her eyes on the sights and smells of the mighty woods. The rains of autumn had not yet begun, and the air had a dry crispness that spoke of the cold that soon would arrive. On occasion a breeze would waft, and golden leaves like snow would fall around them. The elk unexpectedly slowed, but the King did not loosen his hold on her. She saw a clearing ahead, with a very large, lovely pool. It was quite shallow, perhaps fed from a spring, and reflected the encircling trees like a mirror, along with the clear blue sky and delicate clouds of the autumn afternoon. Each light breeze caused the picture to ripple and change. The elk walked on. She saw tracks and droppings both old and fresh, at the edges. This pool would be a valuable resource for game, and a hidden place some distance away would prove ideal for hunting, should that actually be what they were doing here. When they had walked a suitable distance from the pool, Thranduil whispered for the elk to stop. At last releasing his hold on her, the King dismounted and helped her down. The jewel in his diadem blazed in the dappled sunlight, over a face lit by radiance and happiness. It warmed her heart, to see it...even as she fervently hoped the words she must soon speak would not transform the expression into something very different.

While not nearly as disastrous as her last dismount, she was yet not perfectly steady on her feet. Amused, he held her arm. The knot in her stomach tightened. As he moved alongside her and offered his arm to walk, he spoke in Sindarin. His voice was very quiet, so as not to alert nearby animals of their presence.

"I would kiss you, if I could be certain I would not endure your wrath."

She stumbled at that moment, and halted, her body stiffening. _You have to tell him, and right now,_ she thought to herself.

Her whispered voice was not perfectly steady as she began. "My Lord, there is something I must confess. I have kept something from you, and it cannot continue." She paused, trying to find the wherewithal to speak further. His fingers raised her chin to look in his eyes.

"Yes, Miriel?" His face was kind, but puzzled.

"This is not easy for me to say; I fear your anger, but I must risk it in order to do what is right." She paused, trying to choose her words carefully. "The day you brought me to my living quarters, I did not trust you. I was upset, confused, and seeking any way remaining open to me to protect myself from you. You stood near the doorway, speaking in your language. I believe the words you said to me began with 'Pedig edhellon'. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I do."

She paused, trying to find the last of her courage. "My Lord, I truthfully cannot speak Sindarin, and thereby justified remaining silent. But I can understand it, perfectly. Please, forgive me."

His eyes widened, and for what seemed like an eternity he looked at her, without blinking. Slowly, the corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. "I see," he said. Then he chuckled. "You are forgiven, Miriel. You have elegantly outwitted me, while yet keeping your vows." Relief washed over her. "Thank you, my Lord. I think it is plain, that my regard for you has changed since I first came here." She looked down for a moment, preparing the kinds of words she never thought she would speak.

"My Lord, you may be certain, you would not endure my wrath."

The light returned to his face, on hearing her words. Without hesitation, he leaned down, pulling her toward him by her waist, and pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, and sweet. This time her heart did lurch. His tongue gently sought entrance into her mouth, and she welcomed him, returning his affection tenderly. When he released her, his eyes sparkled. While she said nothing, the emotion that lit her bejeweled eyes said enough.

He brushed a stray strand of hair back from her brow. "As I reflect on some of the things I have said, I realize that you must have many questions, Miriel. We will have time to speak of all of them. But I wish you to know that however muddled my reasons were for bringing you here with me, my attachment to you has grown with each passing day, and is sincere. I do not give my affection lightly. I...have never given it, before now. There is an echo of my heart within you, that I never thought to find in another, and it has drawn me to you with an insistence both powerful and sudden. "

Miriel smiled at his words. "It is a relief, my Lord, to know that I am not alone in this. I do not ask you for any more than you wish to give. It is difficult for me to acknowledge how swiftly you have captured my heart. I never thought to develop affection of this kind toward anyone, much less so easily. But you are not just....anyone. As my person is pledged to your service, my heart now belongs to you also. I could not accept another. What that means, or where that leads, does not now concern me. My happiness and gratitude at being your chosen companion is already complete; to serve you in any way I am able."

"Then let our hearts unite, Miriel, where they already exist together. I brought you here today for the pleasure of watching you hunt. Would you do me the honor, my huntress, of allowing me this?"

A large smile of delight spread over her face. "I believe the honor is mine, my Lord."

"Miriel, before your swift feet depart, there is another matter. You have shown me unwavering deference, but we have now chosen each other. I have a name, and have never once heard you speak it. It would please me, if you would now address me in private as I do you, and not as your ruler."

She looked at him, surprised. His name would need practice, on her tongue. The softness of the Th that began his name, and the trill of the r were not sounds to which her mouth was accustomed. With a smile, she gave a hesitant reply.

"I will do my best, Thranduil." She frowned. "Thranduil, Thranduil."

He corrected her, slightly. "You are very close," he said, smiling before his face suddenly became more serious. "I do not need to tell you, Miriel, that the other consequence of your confession will be that you must begin speaking our language. And it is also time to remedy something else." His hands travelled to her ears. He spoke now, very softly. "You understand, do you not, that there are too many things about you that have only one explanation?"

Though she had not allowed herself to dwell on it, she did know. Before coming here, so many little reasons existed to not consider her past or connect the things about her that should not have been.

"Yes."

"You may feel stinging, but it should not be unendurable. Hold still."

The same sensation she had felt the time he'd worked on her legs built now in her ears as he laid his hands against her head, but swiftly gave way to a feel of...buzzing, for lack of better words, followed by increasing sensations of pinpricks. They were sharp, and surprising, but certainly no worse than insect stings. There was also warmth. And after a time, a sense of pleasure far in excess of what had happened in her leg muscles. It was this that took her aback more than anything, and she was grateful that he had specified to keep still. It was not easy, and an involuntary moan escaped her lips even as the feeling subsided. He removed his hands.

"You may move now," he said.

Miriel reached up, almost not wanting to know. Her fingertips trailed slowly up the edges of her ears, until they came to a gentle point before sloping back down.

"Thranduil, thank you," she whispered, as she tried to digest what she could no longer ignore. "Someone did not want it known. How could anyone do something like that, to a little girl? To anyone?" she asked in bitter disbelief.

"I do not know, Miriel. But it is as my heart suspected. Perhaps on some level of instinct, this is also why I took you. You belong with your people."

She frowned, realizing that his voice now sounded subtly different to her. But of course, she now had her ears catching more sound.

"I can hear more, now," she said, smiling. With her eyes full of love, she reached up on her toes to kiss him again on the mouth, quickly meeting his lips before withdrawing. With a mischievous look she said "The deer are not going to hunt themselves," and she bounded off in what seemed like a promising direction.

She reversed her bow to how it usually would be, as she jogged along silently, to put some distance between herself and the pleasantly emotional encounter. It would not do, though, to have that cluttering her head, and she allowed it to fall away as she brought her mind into the hunt. Slowing to a silent walk, she carefully opened her senses to the forest. At mid day, it was not the best time to encounter game. Nor was remaining on the forest floor advantageous to her goals. In the distance, but still within some sight of the pool, she saw a stand of conifers that looked better suited, and decided to track that way. Carefully now, she scouted the terrain ahead. Resting quarry were too easy to overlook, if one was not careful. At the base of a likely tree, she silently brought out her line and looped it so that she could ascend to the lower scaffolds. She did not like the positioning of this tree, and leaped into the next one. The vantage was much better, and she went out on the limb to exactly where she wished, looped her line, and froze into place. By quadrant, she concentrated, looking, listening, smelling. She was within easy shot of a game trail that appeared to be well used. Where the elk was, or the King, she had no idea. Her bow was removed from off her body, in the event there was an opportunity to use it.

She wondered, with some amusement, why he wished to observe her hunt. Nothing could be more boring, actually. It was ninety nine percent waiting, patience, and educated guesses and one percent actually having a chance to bring down quarry. Frowning, she realized that it was a challenge, in this long watch, to not daydream about the encounter she had with him. _It seemed unreal_ , she thought, shaking her head. _The great Elvenking, and.....her?_ Yet she saw him perhaps less as a ruler and more as a.....person, with needs, wants, and a wish for someone to alleviate loneliness. Well she knew, the wrong company was far more tiresome than being alone...yet that did not alleviate the desire for the right company. And an honorable male who thought that sitting and lurking for hours to outwit prey, and who loved running through the trees under moonlight....that was the right company. _Enough_ , she thought, rolling her eyes at her girlish thinking and forcing her mind to pay attention. Given the season, she wondered if it might do well to take advantage of the rut. The question was, were the stags still in a territorial mood? She kept rattle bag objects bound tightly, designed to imitate the sounds of sparring antlers. Carefully fishing that out, she released the ties that kept it from making unwanted noise. Her decoy sounds carried wide, even in her own ears. The silence of the forest felt almost like a graveyard. That disturbed her, too. It was not normal. She felt suddenly uneasy, for reasons she could not determine, and went on alert. Instinct told her to release her loop and retreat toward the trunk of the tree, and pull her hood and cloak more tightly around her.

A scent of foulness was on the air. Wrinkling her nostrils, she could not ever recall such a smell, unless it came from a rotting carcass. Soon she caught noises, animal rumblings. Perhaps sixty feet over, she saw them first. It was like a wolf, but monstrous, larger than a horse by far. Astride it was a broken and distorted creature. While she had never seen either before, she had heard the stories. Orcs, and wargs. _Was this what Thranduil had meant, when he said his forest was not entirely safe? He might have been more specific_ , she thought, frowning. Now she recalled the black arrow she'd taken from the deer. _How dare they come into his woods_ , she thought. Everyone knew that they were foul, evil, and would hurt and kill merely for the pleasure of it.

She grimaced. Right now, they were an easy shot, but she saw three wargs and riders; that meant six arrows. And after the first arrow, the shot would no longer be easy. And were there more? What of the King's elk? she wondered. Hopefully it was far away from these. She hesitated. Skill in hunting was not skill in combat. Silently she fitted an arrow, and waited. Suddenly one orc fell from what appeared to be a thrown dagger, and she hesitated no longer. Her first arrow went into the eye of one of the wargs, as did her second. By bad luck, the third warg and rider tracked the shot, and began to run toward her. This warg too she brought down, but did not take into account that its rider held a bow as well. At the last moment she looked on in disbelief to see that an arrow had pierced through her arm, with part of the shaft protruding at either end. It did not yet hurt, and she quickly shot her attacker down just before the pain moved through her arm. A third orc she saw hurl something at a target away from her, and with great pain she loosed her last arrow. She could raise her arm no more. Her heart was racing, and it was difficult to think. Never before had she been injured from a weapon, and was thinking with some chagrin that this was why she trained so hard to kill on the first shot...nothing should have to endure this terrible feeling. She remembered the buck that died at Thranduil's feet, and now felt remorse for what it suffered as it ran from Braedon.

 _I have to get out of this tree,_ she thought... _one handed_. There was silence again, as she worked to hop to lower branches. She was a good twenty feet up, she reasoned, considering her options. _Line and ladder_ , she thought. Quickly looping her line, she unrolled her ladder so that the opposite end was in her hand, the grapple dangling. She passed the loop ends of her line over each side of one of the wooden pegs of the ladder, and used her legs and her good arm to lower herself quickly. Once on the bottom, she waggled the line until the loop slid off the peg, allowing the part hung over the tree branch to come loose. She coiled and stowed everything as swiftly as possible, under the circumstances. Her discomfort from the arrow was rising swiftly. And now she second-guessed her decision to leave the tree. If there were more wargs, they would smell her blood. Though it would be agony to fire another shot, she nocked an arrow just in case. Waiting, listening.

She needed a way to break the arrow in her arm, she thought. It wouldn't do to have the ends sticking out like this. And the thing looked filthy, it needed to come out altogether. _It wasn't a normal arrow_ , she reasoned, _from those horrid things_. If she did that, she needed cloth to bind the injury. Rolling her eyes, she realized that the best candidate was the scarf she used to bind up her bosom. It was far from ideal, but least she had a plan. She found a tree with a tight fork, and placed the arrowhead into it. Stabilizing it with her hand, she steeled herself and bent against it hard. The head snapped off, and it was all she could do not to scream. Tears rolled down her cheeks from the distress of it, as she tried to breathe silently. She had to get the cloth off, first, because she could not remove the arrow without having something ready to stanch the bleeding. Reaching inside her garment, she fished around with her fingers until she found the knot that held the silk, and painstakingly worked it loose. Finally it came undone, and she began to pull the entire length free. _This could not be more ridiculous,_ she thought. She felt the last of it come off, freeing her breasts. Tossing it around her neck to keep it clean, she tried to prepare herself for how much this was going to hurt. _Best just get it over with, Miriel_ , she tried to encourage herself. _One, two, three._ Unable to completely stifle a strangled sound, more tears rolled down her face as her breathing came hard. But at least the thing was out. She tied the end of the silk into a bowline, using the loop to create an initial slipknot, which she placed her arm into, leaving the knot relatively loose. This anchored it enough to allow her to make wrap after wrap after wrap, binding it, and finally putting in some half hitches to keep it in place. It still hurt a great deal, but in a way that now seemed bearable. She picked up the pieces of the arrow. Thranduil would probably want to see them.

Frowning, she realized now how odd it was, that he was...nowhere? She saw a cedar tree nearby, and scuttled over to it. Grabbing several sprigs of the fragrant growth, she rubbed it up and down near her wound, hoping to cover over any scent of blood. For good measure she tucked some pieces into the wraps of the silk. Cautiously, she looked around. There had been nothing but silence, so apparently the small pack of creatures was the extent of the incursion. Even more cautiously, she went to investigate their carcasses. She retrieved her arrows, disgusted at their filth. Three wargs and two riders were accounted for, where was the third? Stepping to the opposite side, she began to look...and smell...in the distance. The sight of a flaxen haired figure on the ground almost stopped her heart. She maintained caution, but went to him as swiftly as possible. The last rider was dead; the black mess on the King's sword gave the reason. Examining him, he breathed, and she could see no blood. I do not understand, she thought. But she caught a glint of the wrong color in his hair, and reached to find an ugly bruise against his temple. It was very swollen and had bled somewhat. She listened at his chest; his heart was strong. She was not sure what to do; she had never healed a person before. _Try_ , she thought, _what is there to lose?_ Reaching for her jar, she poured all of the dried plant pieces into her hand, and held it firmly against the side of his head. As it occurred to her, so she did. She kissed him on the lips, on his cheek. With her hands holding his head, she began to think her thoughts. _Your head must be well, you must heal. You have my love, Thranduil, you must heal...._ This went on for a very long time, until once again she believed no more was to be gained.

Had it made any difference? She honestly could not tell. _They needed the elk_ , she reasoned. She cleaned and sheathed his sword, and did her level best to imitate the sound he made when he called the animal, praying it would be good enough. Her relief when it appeared was incalculable. Figuring that she must speak to it in Sindarin was not so wonderful. In childishly simple sentences, she pleaded with the animal. "He is hurt. Please bring us home. You must come down. On your back, I need help." The magnificent animal lowered itself to its knees, right near them. With great difficulty, she moved the King, assorted body parts at a time, onto the animal's back. It was unavoidable, to use her injured arm, and there was considerable pain for her. But how was she going to keep him there? She would have to ride behind him, to hold onto him, but his body was heavy. It was then that she saw the buckles on the saddle, and had an idea. Using her line, she basically tied his thighs and waist into the saddle itself. And then she raised the stirrups, for her own legs. She held him, and spoke to the elk again. "I ride bad. Take us home please. Gentle but quick. I hold him." Tightly she grasped him as the animal carefully rose to its feet, but there was still a terrifying amount of lurching around for a moment.

They were headed home, she told herself, where he will be helped. Her vows to serve him would have no greater test in her life than this ordeal. As the miles wore on, her suffering increased. The filthy wound in her arm carried its own malice, while her legs increased in discomfort all the while. Her healing of him, which made more of a difference than she realized, had taken her strength. He had sustained a grievous blow to the head, from an unseen stone one orc had hurled at him. She had greatly diminished the damage from this, and shot down the Orc that might have killed him while he was defenseless. Steadfastly, she held his difficult weight against her much smaller body. Every possible thing she could think of to keep her focus and distract herself from her torments, she did. She recited rhymes, and nonsense childhood songs. The recipe for varnish, the names of the villagers. Anything at all, to distract her from the pain she could barely endure as the elk ran on.

Against all hope, the stables came into view at last. She was not shy about shouting "Help. The King. Hurt." at the first person who could hear her. Swiftly she began untying the line that bound him to the saddle, as many hands took him away from her. As it became apparent what was happening, an entire commotion followed the King into the Palace, leaving her quite alone with just the stable hands. Their expressions were openly contemptuous, and she turned her eyes away from them. She told the elk, quietly. "Thank you, friend. You saved him. Thank you from my heart. Please kneel? I not get down." The workers turned their backs on her and left, as the large animal knelt, allowing her to slide herself off of it very slowly. It felt hurtful, that they did not try to help her at all, and for the first time she wondered how the elves here viewed her. _It would appear, poorly_ , she thought. Slowly, and in considerable difficulty, she walked the distance alone to their rooms. Her heart told her the King was being cared for to the best of anyone's ability, whereas she had just enough left in her to possibly make it to her bed. As she passed the guards at his door, she looked at them. Their stern faces stared rigidly ahead. In the eyes of one, she thought she caught a flicker of wavering, but they offered her no acknowledgement. Entering her own rooms, she willed herself to reach her bed. Standing against its edge, she fell back, pinning her bow to the mattress. At last she could yield to the pain and weariness, and she knew nothing else. When the sun rose the next day, she did not wake. As the hours wore on, her untended injury began to fester, and fever set in. Unaware, she slept on.

There was a point at which a voice penetrated the shadows of her slumber. It was cold, enraged, and frightening. There were hands on her, and then the shadows fell again.

"Miriel," she heard. "Miriel, it is time to wake. Please wake for me, Miriel." She did not want to, but she was probably oversleeping for breakfast again, she thought. Her eyelids were so heavy, and she was tired, but the King was asking her to wake. Just blinking felt like the hardest thing she had ever done. The images were blurred, and her eyes closed again.

"Miriel, you must wake. Try again. Wake, Miriel." She sighed heavily. He must really desire his breakfast, she reasoned. Again, she forced her eyes to open, and blinked again. Only then did she realize how thirsty she was. Turning, she tried to sit up, but was pushed back down. "Please, I need water," she whispered, trying to clear her mind. It was not working very well. Strong arms pulled her up to sit, and brought a bowl to her lips, from which she drank greedily. She did not know how many bowls she emptied before she finally sighed with relief. "Thank you. I am sorry, my Lord, to have overslept for breakfast," she whispered.

"Miriel, look at me," the King said. Trying, her eyes had to adjust for some time, before she could see clearly. He brushed hair from her face, patiently waiting until she could at last comply. "I am not concerned about breakfast."

"Oh."

As her senses returned, she saw that she was in his rooms, on his couch, and that they were not alone. There were others, standing in a group, looking on. Guards stood behind them, as well. And she remembered, now what had happened. She smiled, to realize the King had recovered. "You are well, my Lord?"

"I am, Miriel." He took her hand. "I want you to tell me everything you remember happening, everything you did. " She looked over at the others, feeling uneasy.

"Do not be concerned with them. They wish to listen, as well," he said.

The thing was, they did not look to her as though they wished to listen to anything. In fact, most of them looked ill, but, she turned back to look at the King. "Yes, my Lord." As she spoke, he repeated everything back, translating into clear Sindarin.

She narrated everything from the use of her decoys, killing the wargs and orcs, caring for her injury, trying to heal him, and the difficult ride on the elk. She felt embarrassed about the words she spoke to the elk, when he repeated those too. And that the elk helped her dismount, as no one else offered. She went to her rooms, not feeling well, and, here she was. Absentmindedly, she pulled her hair behind her ears, smiling as she remembered that they now no longer were mutilated.

Thranduil now turned to face the others, and his face took on an expression she prayed would never be directed at her. His voice was absolutely glacial, as he spoke to them in Sindarin.

"So from the account, as I understand it, she shot down two wargs, two orcs, took an arrow to the arm, treated her own injury, saved the life of her King, and exceeded her own strength and endurance to see him back to safety. Her reward from you, the fellow subjects of her King, was that she was ignored, unassisted, and left with untended injuries in spite of the fact that Every. Single. One. of you witnessed her distress, and chose to do nothing. My elk showed her more kindness than any of you. You chose to believe that she was the human amusement of your King, not deserving of her place, and that it would be preferable for her to suffer, or perish. Because apparently, each of you somehow have been granted the understanding and authority to rule over my private affairs." Their faces were dead pale, and not one of them dared raise their eyes to him.

He rose, pacing slowly around them. "Does she appear to be Edain, to you?"

A soft chorus of "She does not appear so, my Lord," rumbled through a group of very agitated faces.

He waved his hand. "Take them to the dungeon." The guards at the rear now moved forward, to lead away those who had earned the King's wrath.

Miriel was frozen in place as she watched this. They had all really done that to her? She looked down. _I always thought elves would be...better than that_ , she thought. _This is why I would rather hunt._

The last of his prisoners, some of which she supposed included the guards at his doors, left. The King stood, his hands holding the back of a chair, his eyes closed. It seemed wise to allow him a few moments, until a few moments became a great many of them.


	5. Five

"Thranduil?" she said, very softly. He looked up and turned toward her. Very tentatively, she reached out her hand toward him. "I would go to you, but I am afraid it would end badly," she said, smiling. It was not necessary to stand, to perceive her own weakness.

Immediately he came, and sat with her. His face was still overwritten with the bitterness of what had happened. She took his hand in her much smaller ones, slowly running her fingers over the back of his hand in a manner she hoped might be soothing. "I do not wish to intrude, but would you please tell me what happened? How long was I asleep? I was very worried, for you."

He looked at her now, and saw those exquisite eyes, filled with open adoration for him. He took a deep breath, and she felt him relax, at least a little. "I slept for a day, after we returned, waking refreshed. The healers had tended me, but told me that there had been little to do; you had already done it. Then, I sought you out. You were as you must have been from the moment you returned here, lying on your bow, and burning with fever from your wound. It will suffice to say that I was displeased, to discover your condition. I healed you, and cared for you. You have been asleep for nearly two days."

Miriel smiled, cocking her head. "I remember hearing a voice, but thought it was part of a dream. It sounded...angry."

He paused, looking for a long while into the crackling fire. "You were right, Miriel, when you assumed on the day we met that I can read minds and hearts. But I do not do so lightly. It grieved me, very much, to be forced to examine those who witnessed your return. Some that saw did not realize your condition, while others did. They hoped, that by not aiding you, you would come to harm. These ensured the healers were never told, that you had need of assistance," he said bitterly.

She continued to stroke his hand. "I am sorry, that this happened to you, my Lord. Those who are unkind and prejudiced bring their troubles to many. I wonder sometimes if it is why I was drawn to hunting, a solitary pursuit. But you do not have the option, to live as I did. You are honorable, and unwavering. There must be many here, who regard you highly for it. I do. I thank you, for caring for me." Tentatively she reached up to brush her fingers down his cheek.

He took her hand, and held it against his face. "Miriel, I do not believe you told quite everything about your encounter. I yet have questions."

"Please, ask. I did the best I could, but my mind is not yet perfectly clear."

"Your wound was bound with a long piece of silk. I do not believe those grow in the forest?"

She laughed, explaining whence it came. He grinned, shaking his head. "Miriel, there are female fighters among us. I will have the garment makers provide you with the proper clothing for such a purpose. Though, in this instance, it was not for the worst." He chuckled, finding it amusing. He raised his eyes back to her, and now the mirth left his face. "Your description of bringing me home was not detailed. I suspect it was much harder than you let on. I wish to be told, all of it."

She looked away. "It would be easier, if you would consent, to see my thoughts."

"Very well."

"Do I have to do anything?" she asked.

Thranduil regarded her. "It is less effort for me, if you actively recall your memories."

"I will try to keep it in order, then. I can begin?"

"Yes."

She showed him what she never would have been able to speak aloud; it was not in her to be able to divulge that level of torment.

He stared her, at a rare loss for words.

"My Sindarin really is atrocious," she said, smiling, trying to lighten his mood. It did not appear to work. "I feel very scrutinized, Thranduil," she said softly. "And I cannot know your thoughts."

Finally he spoke. "That you endured this, weighs on my heart."

Reaching for him, she asked without words to be held. In his embrace, she responded, "You would have done the same for me, or any of your subjects. I swore fealty to you, my Lord. For me to be able to aid you, no matter what the difficulty, was my privilege."

The King did not say any more on this matter. Long minutes passed by while he held her against him, his fingers rhythmically stroking her golden hair as he turned what he had learned over in his mind. Relaxing against him, she treasured these soft caresses, that were the greatest reward he could have offered. He had nearly returned her to sleep when she felt him gently push her away, his lips kissing her brow.

"Come, Miriel, it is midday. You must now eat, and then you will sleep again." He helped her to stand. Her injury and her pain from the long ride had been healed, but the energy lost from healing him could only be restored by rest. As he seated her at the table, her desire for food washed over her with all its former intensity; she had not had any in almost two days. He began serving her. "Miriel, at each meal, you wait for me. Not this time. I command you to begin eating, right away. Am I understood?"

He smiled as her hands moved toward her utensils, even before she spoke in a soft voice tinged with thanks. "You are, my Lord Thranduil." Gratefully, she began eating, filling herself until it was not possible to have more.

He sat with her, holding her hand, having insisted she lie down once again. He knew it would not be long before sleep came yet again. Asking her to close her eyes, he began to tell her the story of creation. His own father had whispered these same words to him at bedtime, long millennia before, and he knew of their power to quiet the mind. The corners of his mouth curled up as her breathing became deep and even, long before he had even named all of the Valar. Replacing his crown, he left to attend to duties, secure in the knowledge that she would sleep long and soundly.

His thoughts grew darker, as he walked the passageways to his throne. There would be no delay, in passing judgement on each of them, in turn. His seneschal, Erynion, bowed to him, waiting for him to speak. "Miriel will fully recover," said Thranduil quietly. His voice was lowered, as his words were for Erynion alone. "Which is more than I can say for my faith in some of those who have made choices that are nearly unforgivable."

Erynion did not return the King's gaze. He, like many, had initially questioned the King's behavior in the deep privacy of his own thoughts, but that some could have acted as they did...he would not have believed it possible. And now, much more had been revealed. An unknown elleth, who had rendered the King service with honor in a manner few of them would ever match...he shook his head in sadness.

They were brought before him, one by one. Each was asked by Erynion, if they wished to plead their cause. Six remained silent, staring stonily ahead, and were banished. The seventh spoke, kneeling with his head bowed, before the King. With repentance and humility he offered apology, asking for mercy and expressing willingness to accept punishment. He freely admitted allowing his heart to be swayed from what he knew to be right, by mistaken thinking, and that he accepted responsibility for his actions. Lastly, he begged the King to extend his apologies to Miriel, who he knew he had badly misjudged and wronged. He was Sidhion, one of the guards at the King's door. Thranduil rose from his throne. The only audible sounds in all the Hall were the distant sounds of the flowing water, and the rustle of the King's silken robes as he descended the steps. He walked slowly around Sidhion, considering. There was no deception; the words spoken were sincere. The King knew that Sidhion had reasonable skills as both a fighter and a hunter. A fitting solution came to mind.

"Rise. Look at me, and hear your judgement." Thranduil commanded. The eyes that lifted to his were even, resigned, prepared to accept whatever was next said. "I grant you the mercy for which you have asked, but with justice. Your sentence is that you are now permanently assigned as personal guard and tutor to Miriel. You will not find this to be an easy task." The corners of Thranduil's mouth curled up at the thought of the very demanding undertaking with which he had just charged him. "At the next opportunity, you will apologize to her yourself. She is yet where you last saw her."

Kneeling again, Sidhion thanked the King, and kissed the ring on his hand. Closing his eyes, he knew he would never allow his heart to falter in this manner again. Withdrawing, and considering himself extremely fortunate, he left to assume his new duty. As Thranduil watched him depart, some of the heavy burden of this day lifted. There had at least been one, to lessen the pain of the betrayal. Looking over to Erynion, he nodded curtly as he turned and left. He did not return to his rooms, but walked through the Palace, to wherever his feet took him. For hours, he recalled every small thing between himself and Miriel since the moment she had first....threatened to kill him, he recalled with a broad smile. Having taken this first step with her, he well knew where it would likely lead. Of her heart and true nature, he had no doubts. _But who was she?_ While it was of no consequence in the end, he would still very much like to know. Having reflected as much as he wished to on this for one day, he returned to his Hall, where Erynion yet lingered.

"My Lord?" said his seneschal. It was most unusual, for the King to return here once his royal obligations were concluded.

"I will speak frankly, Erynion, of what will soon become obvious enough to all." He told his oldest confidant and most faithful servant all that was known of Miriel, and that he wished to discover her origin, if possible. He openly declared his swiftly growing attachment. "Before you are tempted to lecture me, old friend, know that I am well aware of the seriousness of this choice. I have not lived alone for thousands of years, ignorant of the sanctity of marriage."

Erynion smiled. "For once, my Lord, you are mistaken. While I will confess having been initially concerned, I was only prepared to comment that I have not ever seen you this happy, the events of these last two days aside. Your private life is your own, and I wish only for your joy. Regarding Miriel, I will endeavor to learn what I can." Smiling, Thranduil nodded in acknowledgement, and departed.

Sidhion stood at attention outside his door, bowing his head to the King in silent respect as he passed by. Miriel slept on, not having moved. Pouring himself wine, he looked on her for a very long time after he seated himself. Finally making up his mind, he rose and procured a length of thin ribbon. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he used it to take the measurement of the index finger of her left hand.

His servants had prepared their meal, and while the table was being laid, Miriel began to wake. Rubbing her eyes, she smiled to herself, smelling the food. _I am worse than a wolf near a fresh carcass_ , she thought. Moving the blanket aside, she sat up, feeling considerably stronger than earlier. Stretching and twisting, she sought to return vigor to muscles that felt stiff from inactivity. As she reached up, her hands were taken from behind, and she relaxed into the hold on them. Tilting her head back, she smiled. "You are admirably silent and move with stealth, Thranduil. That pleases me."

Releasing her hands, he walked around to join her, now allowing his robes to rustle. "You may be the first to ever tell me that. Most have behaved as though my appearing out of seemingly nowhere was an unwelcome and annoying trait. Which is likely most of why I felt encouraged to turn it into an art," he chuckled. "Do you know, that is one of the first things I admired about you? When you followed me to my elk, and were barely detectable even to my ears, it deeply impressed me. Your unfortunate brother, by contrast, had all the finesse of three herds of deer on a dead run through the underbrush."

Miriel laughed openly, at the memory. "I had not wished to bring him with me, that day, just on account of what you say. And yet now...had he not come, I would not have met you."

"Then let us dine, and think fond thoughts concerning the noisy," he jested, inviting her to the table. After he had filled her plate as many times as she could manage, he asked how she now felt.

"Considerably better, though not quite fully back to normal. I am certain I can be climbing trees, by this time tomorrow."

He looked at her, a little sheepishly. "Miriel, there is something I must tell you. This may not please you, initially, but I ask that you give it a fair chance."

Complete confusion at what he could mean washed over her face, but whatever it was, of course she would try to comply. "My Lord?"

He explained to her what had transpired with Sidhion, and watched as her eyes widened, and then her eyebrows raised. Followed by a frown, and narrowing eyes. Which then led to a single raised eyebrow, and finally a shrug.

He stood up, grinning. "To think that my first experience with you was one of the utter unreadability of your feelings, Miriel. Sidhion is outside, and doubtless cannot wait to make his amends to you. I should clarify my thinking, as well. I cannot be with you all the time, and yet it falls to me to teach you our ways, and remedy the gaps in your ability with our language. He is fully qualified to assist with all these matters, in addition to protecting you."

"Thranduil?" she asked, seeing that he waited for the question. "I will do as you ask, but, can he keep up with me?"

The King chuckled. "That remains to be determined. I can tell you that he has enough skill to learn, should you decide to have pity on him. And if not, perhaps that is not entirely undeserved. However, in his company, I will feel as though I can grant you far greater access to the forest than in my absence, without being remiss. There is no doubt in my mind, Miriel, that your skills exceed his, in most ways. Unfortunately, as you have now seen, none of us should go alone except at need. I would have perished, had you not been with me."

The encounter with the wargs was not likely to leave her mind, anytime soon. "As you wish it, my Lord."

Thranduil returned, with Sidhion in tow. She had risen as well, and moved into the center of the room, not desiring to be seated at this moment. For the King, she would do this, but at the moment it felt terribly awkward. He was indeed the guard from the King's door, and she recognized him now as the one in whose eyes she thought she detected a wavering, when she had returned. Sidhion was taller than her, but not so tall as the King, with a chestnut color of hair and hazel eyes. He was neither ugly nor attractive to her; just another ellon. But that his features had changed, she could see. All emotion was wiped from her own face, and she initially kept her eyes slightly averted. There was a bit of a reason. She often did not look at others directly. Long ago she had learned, there was a certain power to be had over others, the first time anyone had their first real look at her eyes. Even the King had been affected to a certain degree, she knew. It was an advantage, and at times proved useful.

Sidhion knelt in front of her, at which point she turned her gaze to him fully. With hidden satisfaction, she heard the slight intake of air that signaled her success. _Though_ , she thought to herself, _if he faced Thranduil, I must be far simpler._

"Miriel, I wish to offer you my apology for my inexcusable behavior. I do not know if you can ever forgive me, but I will do everything in my ability to guard you and serve you, as the King has commanded."

His voice was pleasing, well modulated and filled with regret. She did not speak for some moments, as she kept her gaze locked to his.

"I need to know why. Why would you do that to me? Did I offend you, somehow? If I am going to be asked to forgive you, I need to understand why you did it." Thranduil translated for her.

Visibly distressed, he breathed deeply, though he did not lower his gaze. "I allowed myself to listen to the opinions of others, that believed it unworthy and improper of the King to install a woman from the Edain village into the heart of our home. I gave way to a form of pride that judged you as being lesser than myself, even though I knew nothing about you. Every bit of it was unkind and unwise, and the worst part of it is, I knew that, in my heart. The affairs of my King are not and should not be my concern. In my weakness I did not stand for what I knew to be right, and then I could not summon the courage to correct my wrong under the eyes of the other guard. I committed great offense against my King, whom I do love and have sworn to serve. It is too late to undo my error; all that is left to me is to make what amends I can. I am so sorry, for the pain I have caused. I hope, that you can find it in your heart to believe me."

Her eyes softened, somewhat. It took courage, to speak these words. And had not she herself made choices she later regretted? "I believe you, because my King believes you. Thank you for your words. If he forgave you, I do as well. I am sorry that it took....this, to simply be able to know your name. I imagine we will see more than enough of each other. Please stand up. Be at peace."

When Thranduil had finished translating, he added kindly, "You may go now, Sidhion." Bowing deeply, the guard retreated and turned to leave.

"You did well, Miriel," he said, once Sidhion had left the rooms. She nodded.

Thranduil gestured to the couch. "Sit." He folded the blanket she had used, setting it aside. Joining her, he placed his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him."Today was difficult, Miriel. Only Sidhion repented. All the others, I was forced to banish. I do not know if you can understand, what it feels like to love another as a parent would a child, only to experience the bitter sting of their rejection."

Listening, she could not exactly relate, but it did not mean she could not feel for him. "I am truly sorry, Thranduil, for what you have experienced. I have no similar occurrence to draw on, but I can try to imagine." She turned her face from him, to take and kiss his hand that held her shoulder, at the same time a pang of sorrow washed over her. His words reminded her of what she felt like she had done to Ma. It was not really the same, but the chord was similar enough in her ears. Miriel squeezed her eyes shut. These feelings must be put behind her. She had chosen him, and there was no turning back. Absentmindedly, she continued to kiss his hand at intervals, as her thoughts wandered down the path her life had taken. It surprised her when she heard a stifled groan behind her. He turned her head toward him, and crushed his lips to hers. In his kiss she felt his yearning for reassurance, and love, and she turned her full attention toward him. He kissed her insistently, and tenderly. When at last he released her, she saw tears on his cheeks. She kissed those away, tasting the salt of them on his skin, while drying his face with light brushes of her fingertips.

"Gi melin, Thranduil," she said softly, hoping it would mean more to him if he heard her say "I love you", for the first time, in his own language. His eyes opened wide, and his face almost seemed to crumble as he saw it in her eyes, and heard the words. With a cry of grief, he held her to him very tightly, as he released his painful emotions into her confidence. She kept him in her arms, and when the worst of his heartache seemed to have passed, she pulled him insistently until his head was resting against her chest, with her chin perched on his head. He heard a very soft, quavering hum fill his hearing, with her heartbeat as its background. It was musical, but with no definable melody. Listening to it quieted him and he felt the sorrow leaving. He did not know why, but all he wished to do was follow the changing sounds, to see where they led next. For a long time she held him thus, soothing him, stroking his flaxen hair. Outside, the day faded into twilight. It felt to her like an unparalleled privilege, to in any way return to him a fraction of his many kindnesses to her. She did not think him weak. Rather, she was moved by the realization that he had likely never had another to comfort him, in this way. And that saddened her, at the same time it left her determined that he would never want for this, ever again. As she considered these things, she hugged him to her fiercely, and then released him.

"Stand up," she told him. Startled, he raised his head to look at her. "Stand up," she repeated, "and put on your cloak. And sword." He had never heard her issue him an order before. In fact, he could not ever recall anyone issuing him an order, inside of dozens of centuries. And yet, he stood, and made to do as she bid.

"I will return in a moment," she said, as she flitted out of the room. She reappeared wearing boots, and her own cloak covered the climbing line she had hidden in her hands. Taking his hand, she walked to his window and opened it. "Out. "

He did not know about which to feel more astonished; that she was speaking to him thus, or that he was complying. He leaped to the tree, with her close behind. She descended but a moment after him, taking his hand in hers. "Come."

"Where are we going, Miriel?" he asked in a whisper. They both understood that ordinary speaking voices were never used, here.

"I will let you know when I find it. You are indeed my protector tonight, I could not bring my bow past the guards without raising suspicion."

For some time, they walked on, and then she saw what she wished; a large, sturdy conifer whose height she could not determine. Which meant, it was very tall.

"You can climb well, Thranduil?" she asked. He looked up. This tree had no scaffold branches for at least thirty feet from the ground.

"I can climb, Miriel, but I need something upon which to climb. I cannot ascend this tree."

"Yes, you can, with this." She explained the use of her line, and demonstrated. "With it, you can reach the lowest scaffold, and then throw it down to me. If my strength suffices, you have more than enough. There is no need to race, simply move upward at a steady pace, allowing your momentum to carry you along. Try, now."

The first few motions were awkward, but Thranduil swiftly adapted, and soon reached the branch. Miriel joined him swiftly. There were still larger distances between scaffolds, at this level. "We can trade the use of the line, to continue to ascend?" she suggested.

"I have no need of it, now; these I can manage," he said.

"After you, then."

Miriel did require the line, but not for long. Soon it was just basic climbing, as the branches became more plentiful.

"Miriel, why are we in this tree?" asked the King, in mild exasperation.

"To go to the top of it, of course," came the saucy reply. "Come."

His eyes narrowed, and he reminded himself that in the future, he would perhaps do well to insert the word "please" somewhat more often among his terse demands. Finally, they were about to emerge at the top of this tree. He was certain that every type of cobweb, resin and needle was now at residence in his hair. Just as he was about to push himself up on the last branch, she demanded, "Close your eyes."

"Miriel....." he said, his patience wearing slightly thin.

"Please, my Lord. Close your eyes."

Heaving a sigh, he complied. He felt her cord bind around the back of his body. She was binding both of them around the tallest part of the tree trunk. It was a safety measure that she would not abandon, even here. Amused, she picked the debris carefully from his hair, and smoothed it with her fingers.

"Just another minute. Keep your eyes closed a little longer." To distract and reward him, she leaned forward and took advantage of the slightly taller branch on which her own feet were perched. Her lips met his, kissing him softly. It surprised him, to feel her tongue gently brush his mouth, asking to kiss him more deeply. He responded eagerly, and she enjoyed the obvious lightening of his heart. Suddenly, she withdrew.

"Open your eyes now, Thranduil." He did so, and gasped. The stars overhead shone with a brilliance not seen on the forest floor. He felt her fingers on his cheek, as she drew his gaze to the east. The first edge of the full moon appeared in the far distance, beyond the Iron Hills. The Long Lake, Erebor, all began to be visible to his sharp eyes in the distance. Miriel held onto him, as they both silently watched the moonrise. The silver orb appeared large and luminous in the dusty air of autumn. Peace and wonder filled his spirit, such as he had not felt in a long while.

"Miriel, I thank you," he whispered. "You knew what I needed."

"Gi melin, Hîr vuin Thranduil." (I love you, my Lord Thranduil).

He leaned his forehead to hers. "Gi melin, Miriel."

They looked on awhile longer, when Miriel whispered, "We should return, my Lord. As much as I hate to admit it, I need more rest." He nodded. She unbound them, and they began the long descent. When they reached the long drop to the ground, she spoke. "You go first. I am tiring. While I should be able to manage, if my strength fails, perhaps you can keep it from becoming disastrous. Throw up the line, when you are down."

He descended flawlessly, envying her device more all the time. She did well, but missed her footing on the last few feet. He caught her easily, so that she did not fall.

"Thank you," she said. "I will try to live that down." He chuckled. It was growing colder, and she went under his cloak, nudging his arm around her shoulder, so that she could walk with his added warmth. She held his waist, as they walked silently home. Ascending first to his room, he swiftly followed. She removed her cloak, and offered him her line. "Keep this for me, please, until tomorrow. I should take my leave, my Lord. I need more sleep. Thank you, for walking with me." She smiled.

"Miriel." He kissed her on the forehead. "I will see you to your room."

She smirked. "Perhaps after you remove your sword and cloak, my Lord?"

He chuckled, shaking his head at himself. He had seen new love cause mild foolishness in others, and perhaps he was not as immune as he once believed he would be. He saw her to her bedroom, and ushered her inside. "Prepare for bed, Miriel. I wish to sit with you until you fall asleep." He waited outside, until she was ready.

"You need not fear I will go out the window, my Lord. I never leave without my line," she teased.

"I do not fear, Miriel. I merely wish to selfishly spend every last moment of the evening with you. Now, what do you remember of my telling you the story of creation?"

"That Eru made the Ainur, and their names, and that Melkor damaged the music. Then I fell asleep."

He kissed her on the forehead, tucking the bedclothes securely around her. "Good night, Miriel. Eru next began a second, and a third theme of the music..." He would count himself lucky to make it through the naming of the Maiar, he thought. He did not. She was swiftly asleep. He closed her doors, and returned to his own rooms. Retiring to his own bed, he took her line with him, running his fingers along it. With each hour, the conviction in him was growing that theirs would be a short courtship, indeed. It was not unheard of, but rare. Yet, she deserved a full understanding of their laws and culture, before it was fair to offer her marriage. It was too serious and permanent of a choice to be entered into without full understanding. He would see to that, and soon. He drifted off, his fingers tangled in her creation.


	6. Six

In the next weeks, Thranduil had many extra responsibilities. The harvest in the outer lands had nearly reached conclusion, and it was time to settle the trade agreements that would send stores of food, wines and goods flowing both into and out of the realm. They had the evenings, but her days were left largely to herself...and Sidhion. Miriel knew that Thranduil desired her to improve her skills with the language, so she enlisted Sidhion's help. At first her communication with him was filled with many instances of reddened cheeks, as she struggled to express herself. She had no choice; Thranduil was not present to translate. To his credit, she thought, not once did Sidhion ever mock her. He corrected her gently and persistently, offering her the correct sentence constructions, until within a surprisingly short time she was able to carry on simpler conversations that had few errors in grammar or pronunciation. And because she could understand him perfectly, he began to explain their history and customs, in more detail than Thranduil's nightly bedtime tales. Sidhion also began to teach her to read and write, assisting her to form tables by which to memorize the Tengwar letters. He used the books in the King's rooms to have her read aloud, helping her when she did not understand or encountered a new notation.

When she could endure books and histories no more, she made Sidhion go into the forest with her. Often, this was immediately after the midday meal. Serious hunting was impossible without a full day's time, and she felt unwilling to be absent from meals with Thranduil. He always came for them, no matter what his obligations, just to be with her. It hardly felt fair to abandon him. If he could put the business of the realm on hold, she could defer her hunting. But there were times when she began to feel the weight of his words, that rang in her mind:  _And perhaps, one day, you will forgive me for requiring you to share my cage._

On other occasions, she would walk through the Palace, now not content to rest until she felt she had delved all of its secrets. Sometimes she went alone, other times she asked Sidhion to accompany her. When she met others now, they greeted her with smiles and kind gestures. Some even stopped to speak with her, for a time. Her sense of belonging and acceptance increased. It had not been easy, to set aside the sense of rejection that the cruel conspiracy played out against her had forged. Yet Sidhion himself had helped, in this. His open confession of his wrong had not been limited to one occasion. He understood and accepted the damage he had caused, and had the awareness to see the aversion to the sight of others that would at times come over her. Manfully, he went out of his way to introduce her, driving home again and again that the fault had lain with him and a handful of others. In the end, he won out. Miriel thanked him for it, even though he would not accept any gratitude from her, for this.

Their first outing to the forest was humorous, to her. Sidhion was utterly unprepared for her skill level, though he had known she must have some aptitude, in order to have saved the King. After eluding him effortlessly for the fifth time in a quarter of an hour, she did take pity on him. Slowly, she began to teach him, correcting and showing him the signs he did not perceive; both how to pursue and how to elude. Later, she worked alongside him, schooling him in the manufacture of the line she used for climbing. At the same time, she created one for Thranduil. Sidhion was taught her knowledge of the fishermen's arts. He accepted everything from her with humility and eagerness. Under her tutelage, his stealth and his navigation of the forest were vastly improved, even inside of a month. Once, to her immense satisfaction, they located a stag that she brought down with a single shot. The two of them trussed and carried it back to the Halls, delivering it to the butchers.

Though she was elated, she declined to tell Thranduil. She would so very much rather that it had been him with her, and not Sidhion. But truthfully, she had needed the kill, desperately. Her sense of disconnection from what she loved doing the most was growing too great, and she was not accustomed by long usage to forsaking the hunt. And when this thought came, she had to consider it very, very carefully. _Accustomed by long usage._ The greater picture did not escape her, once he explained to her, in an evening before the fire, the customs and obligations of marriage among elves. Her shared affections with him were no idle pursuit; she was being courted in earnest sincerity. They would unite. She would forever be bound to him, and to his duties, to the permanent loss of being first and foremost a huntress. But had she not already essentially lost this, the day he took her? It was a form of grief, a sacrifice. And for her love of the depths of his heart, it was one she knew she would make. It might be tomorrow, it might be years from now; though, she doubted the latter. Every day had drawn them closer; it was simply a matter of the time of the choosing of their hearts. His heart, really. She had already accepted, and made her peace with his obvious desire for them to wed. It was her genuine belief that she had all she required, from him, as things were now between them. Yet, she equally perceived that he wanted and needed more, and did not begrudge him. There were no houses of noble families or important negotiations to consider; they were both alone in this world. While a betrothal was possible, her guess was that he would forego this. Grand public ceremony was what he reserved for the needs of the Realm...it was not what he sought in his personal life, in which he desired privacy, and quiet.

Autumn inevitably gave way to winter, with shorter days. Snows came, covering the paths of the forest in an endless sea of white. Most of the trees now were bare skeletons, except for the conifers. Miriel no longer needed so much tutelage from Sidhion, but there were times she walked with him, just to have company. She could now converse well; only on occasion did she pause to search in her mind for how to express something. He had become a good friend, and in her eyes, had more than loyally repaid his debt to the King for his mistakes. Other times, she wished solitude, and would spend the long hours between meals whittling. The elk was finished, and she had hidden it away, moving on to a menagerie of simpler animals and objects. These she did not keep from Thranduil, and she saw that he appreciated the little figures. What she was waiting for, to give it to him, she had no exact idea. Well, maybe she did have an idea, but that yet remained to be seen.

Finally the time came when his duties abated, and he once again had much more freedom to be with her. He had had his way on nearly every agreement for the barter of goods, as well as the tariffs for the use of his forest roads for the following season. She had not seen him in such fine humor in weeks, and her heart felt glad for him. He announced that weather permitting, they would go for a ride in the forest tomorrow, and hunt if anything looked promising. It was all she could do, not to cartwheel out the window. Though unlikely, there was still a chance to take a buck in winter.

The day dawned beautifully, and for the first time since their ordeal, she once again sat on the elk with her bow around her body. They left later in the morning, so as to avoid the worst of the cold. The King had provided her with a far warmer cloak, lined boots and thick woolen clothing suitable to winter. There was even a special set of gloves, made so that on her drawing hand, her fingers could be exposed for unimpeded use of the bowstring, and then afterward covered in warmth by a retractable flap that was lined with fur. Her gratitude for these thoughtful and useful gifts had been bottomless. She was not cold now, because of the heat radiating from the elk beneath her, and the warmth of the King's embrace.

They rode on for quite some time, eventually coming to a clearing at the edge of a scenic vista. It looked to the east, and was much the same view as what they'd had the night they climbed the tree to see the moonrise. Except this was day, and the brilliant sun overhead transformed the scene around them to a wondrous sea of white, with the snow and the icicles glittering like diamonds. The peak of the Lonely Mountain rose like a spire, an accent over the blazing mirror of the frozen lake.

"This is an exquisite place, Thranduil. I do not believe I will ever forget this sight. Thank you, for bringing me here." She saw no evidence of game trails or anything else to suggest this was a promising site to hunt; it was only a place to behold the beauty of their world. And what a beauty it is, her heart insisted.

"Miriel," he spoke, "I am going to take your bow, for a moment." She eased out of the string, so he could manage it more easily; he placed it on his own body. "Turn in the saddle, please, to sit sideways." Easily, she swung her leg over the elk's neck and twisted her hips sideways. She felt him slide backward, a little bit. "Now sit to face me."

 _Well this is different_ , she thought, amused. Not being an idiot, she could guess what might be forthcoming, but she allowed him the full control of the matter.

He smiled, and spoke to her gently, taking her hands in his. His blue eyes drank in her features. "Miriel, I will not insult your powers of observation with long winded preambles. We have declared our love for each other. I brought you here, to ask if you will exchange vows with me. I desire to wed with you, and my heart has come to the place where I no longer wish to be parted from you, night or day."

She smiled, and fixed her brilliant eyes on him. The violet in them, unique in all their world, still moved his heart with yearning. "I will speak my vows to you, Thranduil. I have considered carefully, and I will commit fully to what my heart has already chosen."

The King leaned forward, to kiss her forehead. In spite of herself, her heart was thundering in her chest. They looked deep into each other's eyes, and spoke in turn.

"Miriel, I give you freely my heart, my love, and my person. By the divine gift of Eru Ilúvatar, I pledge myself to you in marriage."

"Thranduil, I give you freely my spirit, the love of my heart, and my person. By the divine gift of Eru Ilúvatar, I pledge myself to you in marriage."

He cupped her face with his hands, his face radiant with joy. "My wife," he whispered. "I have waited thousands of years, to say those words." He leaned down to kiss her, as she also sought his lips. They kissed long, and deeply. And in that moment, something else happened. A surge ran through her entire body, something she had never felt before. She gasped, feeling as though she could not take air. He smiled. "We will ride home. But first, there is one more thing." He took her hand, and slid a golden ring onto her finger. Her eyes opened wide. It was made in a delicate imitation of antlers, with the prongs holding a single trillion cut emerald. He handed her one that matched, for him, and held out his hand to her, smiling. Understanding, she felt her stomach twist with emotion as she slid the ring onto his forefinger. "The three sides of the emerald are for the three things we have each given the other, Miriel. The green of the jewel is for the forest, where our hearts lie together."

Tears came now, as emotion she had not been aware she possessed welled out of her. Speechless, she held him tightly. It was as if something that had long been firmly rooted to bedrock was tearing free, and she was not prepared for the feelings. He soothed her, even as he gently lifted her body to turn her facing forward again. Whispering to the elk to return, he held her tightly. "I think we will return with greater swiftness than we arrived." With a mighty bellow, the animal leaped into a gallop as it retraced its own steps through the snow. The chill wind on her face caused her eyes to smart. This time, she did not care, and closed them. She angled her body sideways, and buried her face against his chest. As if he understood, he brought up the edge of his cloak around her, shielding her. As her hands held onto his arms, her thumb unceasingly played back and forth over the edges of the ring he'd given her. Somehow, it helped make what had just happened seem more real. It had not taken thirty seconds for them to speak their vows to the other, and yet now the course of their lives were changed forever. Her lips parted in a grin, underneath the edge of his cloak. They had married, seated on an elk, in the midst of the forest. If there was more perfection to be had for the setting, she did not know what it was. Assuredly, no one else in the world had ever done similar. Her heart swelled with happiness, at the thought of it. As they rode home, he whispered in her ear.

"Miriel, would you allow me to undo the knots of the necklace you wear?"

She raised her eyebrows. It seemed like an odd request, but at the moment there was nothing on earth she would refuse him. "Only do not lose it, my Lord. It is precious, to me."

"I know Miriel, I will take care." He worked at it for quite some time, but eventually his dextrous fingers teased out the last knot, freeing the cord. He carefully removed the wooden pendant from her neck, and placed it in the pocket of his cloak.

When they returned, Thranduil would not let her down. With a smirk, he carried her all the way back to his rooms. Their rooms. He only set her down her once they had passed through the doorway. She thought this was very funny, and teased him. He responded by picking her back up again, as she laughed. Her laughter quieted, when he carried her to his sleeping room and gently placed her on the edge of the bed. She knew what came next...except, she did not. Many times, she had seen the animals of the forest mate, and knew that all things male and female did the same. Yet the rest...there had been no one to explain any extra details, and it was not something about which she felt she could ask him, earlier.

His soft voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miriel, do not be anxious. I will care for you in this, and will not hurt you. I promise, you will enjoy what comes next greatly. Trust in me."

She nodded, smiling.

He began to kiss her once again, gently, thoroughly. The powerful surging she had felt earlier was there again, causing her to want something she did not understand. "Thranduil, why do I feel this way in my body, when I did not before?" she asked, confused.

"It is with me as well, Miriel. Our bodies are now permitted to join, and the feelings are there because they are the gift of Eru, to draw us to each other." Reassured, she relaxed now as he continued his caresses. His lips left hers, now, to continue down her throat, and the base of her neck. He began to help her out of some of her clothing. Cloaks and gloves were discarded, as were belts and boots. His hands smoothed over the sides and back of her tunic, lightly brushing the sides of the corset she now wore to confine her breasts. As he continued to kiss her, his fingers travelled underneath her tunic, touching the bare skin of her back and sides for the first time.

 _How good it feels, the touch of his hands_ , she thought.

Slowly, gently, he lifted her tunic over her head, followed by removing his own. He brought her hands to his shoulders and chest, encouraging her to explore him, to feel him. Placing soft kisses on her bare shoulders and arms, his fingers slowly loosened the lacing of her corset. As he worked the garment open, he softly kissed her breasts as they were gradually freed. He carefully lifted this over her head as well. The sight of her bare breasts caused a surge in his groin.

"Miriel, your body is very beautiful," he whispered. Drawing her into his lap, he held her so that they embraced, bare skin on bare skin. They both were lost in how pleasurable just this alone felt. Driven on, their kissing became more heated. They each knew the other's clothing must be fully removed. Miriel was losing her shyness against the demands of her awakening body, and they each worked at the laces of each other's lower garments. Under her hands she felt the swelling inside of his breeches, and heard his stifled groans as her hands tentatively felt him through the fabric. Soon enough, they were free of their clothing, and Thranduil pulled back the covers of his bed. He saw her watching him in fascination, on seeing his masculinity for the first time. He held out his hand to her, inviting her to join him in the warmth of the bedclothes. He covered them in the soft linens, and brought her hands again to his body, as his own roved over hers. They lay on their sides, facing each other, as he resumed his kisses. His hands found her secret places, where he gently explored her, even as the passion of his kisses increased.

The books in the Palace library that explained these matters may have informed him of what he needed to do for his wife, but they did not prepare him for the blinding pleasure of the act itself. He whispered softly, "I am going to prepare your body to receive mine, Miriel." He disappeared under the covers, and she felt his hands massaging and spreading her legs. Closing her eyes, she relaxed. She felt his fingers delicately touching her womanly parts, and then with a jolt of pleasure, she felt the touch of his mouth. Each caress of his tongue sent fire through her. His motions were gentle, and insistent, and she felt her need for him growing. She knew how they must come together, and under his ministrations, she was beginning to want it fiercely. A finger slid into her, slowly, and she groaned at the strange yet incomparable feel of it. He moved it in and out, sometimes slowly, sometimes rubbing quickly at places inside of her. Her lower body surged and tensed, responding of its own volition. The need she felt was taking on an edge of desperation. This was hunger, of a kind she had not known was possible. More fingers were inside of her now, stretching, rubbing, causing desire to build without offering relief.

"Please," she whispered. "Make this feeling stop. It is difficult to bear."

He emerged from the coverings, flushed with pleasure from the scent and taste of her. "You are nearly ready, Miriel." He moved his body between her legs. The slickness of her want now flowed out of her, and he positioned himself. He now resumed kissing her, interrupting himself only to take her nipple in his mouth, lapping at her with his tongue as a babe might. Unable to control her rising desperation, she began to push herself down onto him. With every ensuing kiss, her need grew, and her flow increased. He now began to push into her of his own accord. "Please", she said. "Even if there is some discomfort for me. I need you, Thranduil."

Her words drove him on, and he began to press into her more insistently, but still with restraint. "Yes," she said, "please, more." She felt it the moment he passed the last of her resistance, and pulled his body into hers as deeply as she could, almost whimpering from the pleasure of feeling filled by him. He held still for a moment, reeling at the sensation of being fully sheathed inside of her. And then he began to move in her, and she thought her mind might explode. Every gentle thrust was stoking a furnace, and she raised her hips up to meet him, unable to prevent herself. Their eyes found each other, as her hands roved his back and arms, encouraging him. They each watched the other, as mounting ecstasy played across each of their faces. Their movements became frantic, until she felt as though she was falling from a great height. She cried out as white hot pleasure burst forth from where they were joined, and radiated through her entire body. As she twisted and strained underneath him, the climax of her body freed his own. A deep groan escaped him as he drove into her one last time, followed the bliss of his seed rushing into her on waves of joy. They clung to each other, lost in wonder as the pleasure that was almost pain subsided, giving way to the deepest satisfaction of body and mind.

"Miriel," he whispered, kissing her tenderly, "now we are wed." Looking on her face, he saw the expression that meant she was trying to understand something. "What is it?" he asked softly.

She struggled to find words. "I have long seen the animals in the wild places do as we have now done. I wondered at the manner in which they would behave. Only now do I understand how their bodies drove them on to the things I witnessed. I sincerely believed that I had all that I needed from you, Thranduil. I expected to speak my vows to you someday, but it was from a place of the love in my heart, not a desire of my body. I could not have imagined anything like what we have just done. Did you....know of this?"

He gently moved off of her, to lie at her side, cradling her in his arms and pulling her to him. Once they were entwined, he answered. "I knew that there would be desire, and pleasure, but I was not prepared for its strength. Perhaps it is for the best. If it were fully known, what lies beyond, the decision to enter into marriage would be influenced. Instead, it is the gift given only after two hearts have made their sacred vows. I did not wish to wed with you for this, but because I could no longer bear parting from you each night." He chuckled. "However, I am not sorry to now know of the great joy we will have in each other."

They kept to themselves for some days, as seemed befitting while they adjusted to the new dimension added to their life. They did invite Sidhion in, at one point early on, to announce their marriage to him alone. It felt only right, that he not have any cause to feel concerned. It would become obvious to him, above all, that change had occurred. Bowing to them both, he wished them joy and expressed his desire to continue in their service, if they would permit it. The King looked on him. "You have shown faithful and heartfelt service by way of making amends, Sidhion. I could ask no more sincere demonstration of repentance, than what I have seen from you in word and deed. I appoint you now as Head Guard over the Royal Household, and entrust you with our welfare." He bowed deeply in gratitude, and withdrew.

Miriel excused herself for a moment, to retrieve something from her rooms. Finding a cloth, she wrapped the carven elk, and returned to her husband.

"I have no gift I can give you, to mark our marriage, except this. It is only a small thing, but I made it for you, with all my love. I have worked on this since the first day you brought me here; its creation began the night you first followed me into the forest."

He took the small bundle she offered, and unwrapped it carefully. His lips parted, on seeing the exquisite carving. The detail and the accuracy were astounding. He admired it for many minutes, turning it this way and that to appreciate her work. At last, he placed it in a position of honor, at the center of his mantlepiece. "Miriel," he said. "It is the finest gift I have ever been given. I cherish it, as I do you." He held her in a long embrace. "I have something for you as well." He retrieved a wooden box. "I cannot take credit for having done anything other than having given instruction to my crafters, unlike your heartfelt gift to me. I know, Miriel, that you do not care overmuch for finery. I hope you will forgive me this selfishness. From the first moment my affections toward you grew, I could not rid myself of the desire to see you wear something that would match both your exquisite eyes and your name." He opened the lid, so she could see. Her face froze in astonishment. To her, the wedding ring he had given her was the most priceless object she had ever beheld, beyond anything she ever imagined would be hers. This, the necklace she now saw, was outside of her ability to process.

"Would you indulge me?" he asked, gently lifting her tunic over her head, so that she stood bare before him, above the waist. He lifted the priceless and delicate piece, formed of row upon row of cascading teardrops rendered in amethysts and white gems, and fastened it around her neck. He steered her to a mirror, where she might see herself. He stood behind her, gazing proudly on her beautiful adorned form. She tried to find her voice. "Thranduil, I..."

His finger pressed against her lips as he spoke softly in her ear. "This time, Miriel, do not speak. The thanks on your face, and the privilege to look on you thus, is all I wish."

 

When the King at last departed his rooms, it was with his wife's hand in his. He made his way to his Hall, to find Erynion. The formal announcement was made to his seneschal of their marriage, and of Sidhion's new assignment. A feast in celebration was planned for all as soon as preparations could be made. Word spread very quickly throughout the Realm; all felt the joy of their monarch's happiness, at his at last having taken a queen. The feast itself was one of the most memorable in the realm. There were roast meats, and food and drink in abundance. Music, song, dance, and roaring fires brought merriment to all who gathered. What Miriel remembered most was the joy shining on the face of her husband, and the cementing of her own acceptance that at last, she was truly among her people. For all the long weeks of winter, they lived in great happiness and the joy of being newly wed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Miriel's necklace: http://www.ajbridaljewelry.com/bridal_jewelry_images/jn174_amethyst_necklace.jpg


	7. Seven

The clean air of springtime filled his rooms as the evening air changed direction, bringing the scents of humus and the oils of the tender green growth that sprang from bough and forest floor. Miriel could not say why, but as they ate together, her thoughts turned more and more to Ma, and Braedon. Admittedly she had not often considered them in the past months, but what began as an idle wondering turned into a weight on her heart as the meal wore on. When they finished, she absentmindedly walked to the window to look to the east, as if gazing across the distance could somehow provide her with answers. As Thranduil watched her, he saw her face darken and that she was becoming withdrawn. She felt his arms wrap around her, and his kiss on the top of her head.

"What troubles you, Miriel?" he asked softly.

Her gaze remained in the distance. "I have rarely looked backward since you took me, Thranduil. I do not know why, but my heart is suddenly filled with wondering about my family. Perhaps worrying, is the better word. There are times when...I miss them. I wish I could know of their welfare. "

Her words stabbed at his heart. He had been selfish, and not only on account of her. How much thought had he given, that these were people, with feelings, and the bonds of familial love? Yes, he had eased their want, but at the same time he had taken a sister, and a daughter, from them. He owed Miriel far more now, than only his duty. He had courted her and taken her to wife. And in all this time, which was much for mortals, he had only sent along her one letter to them. As he rested his chin over the curve of her head, he knew what he must do.

"Miriel, there is a way. Come." Lacing his fingers in hers, he led her to their bedroom, and placed her on his customary side of the bed. Her eyes followed him as he opened a drawer in his small table, retrieving a very ornate mirror, before he seated himself next to her. It appeared to be priceless, framed with precious metals and accented with jewels. "Hold it," he instructed. She did as he asked, and saw her reflection in it.

"This is not an ordinary mirror, Miriel. It carries a powerful enchantment, and few in the Palace know of its existence. Those who do know are ordered to silence, and I will require the same of you. It is never to be touched, without my consent."

She looked at him. "Though I am your wife, I am yet sworn to obey you, my Lord. Your command is law."

He smiled. "Ask the mirror, then, to show you what you wish to see."

A look of incredulity came over her. She knew by now that elves were touched by blessings many would call magical, and that the King in particular held great powers, but this was hard to comprehend. Yet he did not ever jest, about matters of a serious nature. She took a deep breath before speaking clearly.

"Show me Ma, and Braedon."

Involuntarily she gasped as the glass flared with an inner light. What she recognized as her family's home came into view. Her lips parted in astonishment. The home looked better, nicer than it ever had before. The worn furnishings had been replaced by new items, both beautiful and comfortable. The King had been generous, as he had said. The view changed, to Braedon. He was taller now, and appeared to be working in Da's shop. He had filled out more, and the stamp of budding manhood was on him. And yet for all that he looked to be in better health, he did not look happy. Sadness etched his face, as he worked. The mirror changed again, to Ma. She lay in bed, her eyes hollow and emotionless. The linens around her and her bedclothes were fine ones, but she coughed. Her pale face spoke of illness, and despair that had stolen away her will to live out the many years she should have had remaining. As Miriel looked on, tears spilled down her cheeks. Unable to look on any longer, she handed the mirror back to the King, before she gave way to grief. Thranduil also watched, before whispering the words that would allow the vision to stop.

He pulled Miriel into his lap, and held her tightly, trying to think. He created this, and he would have to do what he could to make amends. He knew what he would want, if he were in her position. In a matter of minutes, he had decided. Most of the intensity of her emotion had subsided, as he held her.

"Miriel. This is my responsibility, and I will do what I can to make it right. Dry your tears, dilthen feredith." (little huntress) He raised her chin, and kissed her cheeks. "We will leave, within the hour, for your family's home. We must prepare ourselves to be in the forest, and you should bring extra clothing accordingly; we may be gone for some days."

Her heart filled with reverence and gratitude. "Thranduil..." he held his finger to her lips, smiling kindly. "We will have many, many hours in the saddle together, Miriel. Then, we will speak. Allow me now to do what must be done." She nodded, accepting the reassurance of his tender kiss for now. Rising, she prepared herself as he instructed.

Thranduil stepped outside to inform Sidhion to make ready for swift departure, with adequate guard, on horseback. Wagons would travel with them, at a slower pace, bearing light provisions, those to assist, and at least one elleth who spoke Westron. Without knowing what they would find, exactly, he wanted plans in place for assorted contingencies. If it was merited, he would remove her family and their belongings to his Halls. Why did it not occur to him sooner, that the apprenticed son of a renowned craftsman would be not only a comfort to Miriel but an asset to his kingdom? Shaking his head in annoyance at himself, he forced his thoughts to remain on the immediate issues before him. Soon, all was in order.

Miriel was outfitted for the forest, with a few extra items to ward off cold, a spare tunic and leggings. Beyond these and her hunting pouch, she had no needs. In what seemed like a blur, she was seated before the King in the saddle; they would ride through the night. She recalled the very long ride at a gallop when he brought her home; it would take far longer, at a more sedate pace, to reach her village. In truth, she did not know where they were. In all this time, she had been remiss, never thinking to ask to see a map of his realm. That oversight would have to be corrected. Even the horses in the service of the elves walked with uncharacteristic quiet, she thought. A fair number of them travelled, and yet there was more silence than not, she thought with approval.

There was no need for Thranduil to hold her to him, but he did so anyway. Her delight in their marriage was complete. While she was not so naive as to believe that no trouble would ever rise between them; for now, none had. He loved her with passionate regard, and she fiercely guarded his well being, doing any small thing she could for his happiness or comfort. The night sky twinkled overhead, and occasionally she could see the Star of Eärendil blazing through the trees. Freshness filled the air, as springtime had come.

"Miriel," he whispered softly. "We have a long ride ahead of us. Would you like to hear a story? I wondered if you knew the tale of Míriel, who shares your name."

She sighed. "I do, my Lord. Sidhion was a very efficient tutor, and ensured that I learned well; he talked at length of Míriel and Finwë. And while it pleases me to hear you speak at any time, perhaps that particular tale is too sad for me, just now. My heart will not feel at ease until I see my family. I hope you can understand. But there is something I would like to know, if you are willing to answer."

"Yes, Miriel, go on?"

"I never asked you, why were you so near my village, the day you took me?"

As he chuckled, she felt the low rumble of his mirth through the wall of his chest. "For a long day and night, I had tracked the same stag that you shot. It was a rare allowance to myself, to take so much time to go out on a hunt. I was...deeply unhappy...when the stag in question came nearly to my feet in death, shot by another, and a young mortal came crashing after it through my forest. And then, his impertinent sister threatened to kill me," he teased. "Miriel, did you fear me, that day?"

"Not in the way that you mean, my Lord. I feared only for Braedon's safety; that you would harm him, or worse. Your skills at fighting are spoken of, in the village. When you revealed yourself, I reasoned that I could not succeed against you, and that you were not alone. I abandoned any thought of harming you, as I knew any further attempt would only get both my brother and I killed. You know the rest. Though, only now do I understand, why you were so angry. I did not have a favorable first impression of you," she giggled.

"I could imagine," he said. "And now you are wed to the terrible Elvenking, who captures maidens fair," he teased again, "but only the ones with violet eyes."

"Did they surprise you?" Miriel asked.

"Truthfully, Miriel, they made my heart skip several beats. Though I will deny it, should you ever mention it to anyone. I am supposed to be beyond the influence of such things...but that day, I was not."

She laughed. "It has always had that effect on people, more or less. Males in particular, to be honest. It is much of why I avoided being around others. You cannot know what it is like, to simply look on someone, and a minute later they are scheming how they might have you, in one way or another."

Chagrined, Thranduil grew quiet. "Miriel, I am not certain I was much better."

She wheeled around. "How can you say that, about yourself? There was not a moment in which you did not behave with kindness and propriety. You never looked at me with eyes that spoke of lust or greed. I do not fault others for being intrigued, or wishing to look, or feeling desire. It is when I am made to feel like a piece of meat, curing on a hook, with no thought given to anything about me except how I might provide them with the chance to steal something to which they are not entitled."

He thought on this. Perhaps he was not considering that she was speaking of her experiences among Edain men, who had a far greater capacity to behave dishonorably. "Then I stand corrected," he said, kissing her golden hair.

Miriel told Thranduil as much as she could about Ma, and Braedon, and what each of them were like, but mostly they remained silent, allowing their hands to talk. With quiet caresses and gentle touches, they passed the hours simply enjoying the beauty of the night, and their strong connection to each other. When at last light began to appear in the eastern sky, Thranduil called for the elk and most of the guards to travel at a faster pace, with the rest to follow. The animal entered a swinging trot. In somewhat more than an hour, they arrived at the edge of the forest, quite near where she had fatefully shot the stag.

"We will go on foot, now, Miriel," he said. "I do not like for the elk to be known, outside of my borders. Our guards will follow at a discreet distance. It is not my intention to alarm the villagers." He looked meaningfully at Sidhion, who bowed his head sharply to indicate he understood. Thranduil raised his hood, and they walked on, arm in arm. They encountered no one, and soon were within sight of her home, as they stood near a copse of tall bushes. In spite of herself, her heart beat quickly.

"Miriel, it may be best if I wait here. You should prepare your family. It has ever been my experience that mortals are terrified of me. After my last encounter with your brother, this will not be easy for him." She nodded, reaching up to kiss him. "I intend to come for you, quite soon. And whatever happens today, I thank you with all my heart for your consideration of me." Turning, she walked toward the door of the house.

From a hidden location not far away, Morden saw her return. There was no mistaking her walk, her woven hair, and certainly not the infernal bow and quiver with which she strutted around. He had lurked, and hoped for this for months. The nonsense story about the elves taking her was a conspiracy by her family, to throw him off track, and he would have none of it. She was his, and he would make her pay dearly for their last encounter. He withdrew silently, to find his henchmen.

Miriel approached the house with some trepidation. She thought first, to check Da's workshop, which was a separate stone building some yards away from the actual home. It would be better to see Braedon first, if possible. Silently entering, she heard the soft noises of sanding. At a respectful distance, she softly said "Braedon." Her brother wheeled around, dropping the piece onto the workbench. "Miriel!" Her name was almost a choked sob in his throat, as he ran to her. He wrapped his arms around her, giving way to tears. She held and soothed him. "It will be alright, Braedon, I am here now. I am so, so sorry for what you must have suffered."

"What I suffered?" he asked, incredulous. "The elves brought us your letter, and many things, but...we did not know if we could truly believe what you wrote. Ma has taken a very bad turn, Miriel. Her heart is broken, and some weeks ago she took sick. I have done what I could for her, but I am at my wits' end. I have missed you, so much," he said miserably. She embraced him again.

"Braedon, I have to speak with you, and it may not be easy for you to hear." Stepping back, she looked in his eyes. "The letter did not lie. Many things have happened, for me, in the time I have been gone. Braedon, you have seen my ears many times, have you not?"

"You know that I have, Miriel. Why are you asking me this?"

With her fingers, she swept her hair off of her ears. He opened his mouth, speechless. "Miriel...how is this possible?"

"The King can heal sickness, and injuries, Braedon. He repaired them, for me. But as you can see, I learned something about myself that I could not have imagined."

Braedon shook his head, incredulous. "The Elf-King," Braedon spat. "You will have to forgive me if I still cannot believe good about him, Miriel. He took you from us. And although he sent help, I still cannot forgive what happened."

"Braedon, listen to me," said Miriel. "I was there too, and I had many of the same feelings, believe me. I was the one he took, remember? But the truth is, we trespassed and we poached on his lands. There is no getting around that, and there is a price to be paid for breaking a King's laws. He was very angry at that time; what you saw is not who he truly is. He is good, and kind, and honorable. I do not ask you to change your feelings overnight, but can you at least agree to trust that if I have spent all this time with him, that I would know better than you?"

Braedon looked at her with open bafflement. "You speak about him as though he is someone you actually know. Don't you think he can seem however he wishes to? That is what rulers do, Miriel, appear how they want to those who do all their work for them."

"Braedon. I know him. I fell in love with him, and I married him. He is my husband, and I regard him deeply, because he is everything I said he is, and more." She held up her ring. "He is here with me, not far away. I, we, came back to help, Braedon. To fix what needs fixing. If Ma is sick, the King can heal her. And I desperately need for you to trust me enough to give all of that a chance. Please. He is waiting, out of regard for your feelings. He knew you would not think kindly of him, after what happened. But what happened to me has made me happier than I have ever been, Braedon. Let us help."

Braedon tried to digest this. Breathing deeply, he finally said, "If it will help Ma, I will try. But...bring him here, first. This is going to be a big shock for her, Miriel." He paused. "He won't hurt me?"

"He will not hurt you at all, Braedon. He is your brother-in-law, now. And, he has to live with me," she said, smirking. "Wait a moment."

Nobody saw Miriel leave and return with a tall, cloaked figure at her side. Taking his hand, she led Thranduil inside the shop, where he lowered his hood.

"Braedon, this is King Thranduil." The King could see the obvious unease in the young man, as he wordlessly approached him. Thranduil knelt on one knee, and offered his hand in greeting. He spoke very softly. "I am sorry, Braedon, that we met under such poor circumstances. I would very much like to make amends, if you will give me the chance."

Barely able to respond, faced with the deep blue eyes and jeweled diadem of the King, Braedon took the offered hand, as Da had always taught him courtesy. "I will, my Lord. I apologize to you as well, for having broken your laws the day we...met."

"Thank you, Braedon," the King said, rising again to his full height. "This was your father's workshop? I am very sorry, for your loss," he added. "Would you explain it to me, please?" Thranduil asked Braedon. The young man nodded, seeing for the first time the elf's great beauty, and the kindness of his expression. This was not the same individual that had taken his sister from him. He saw too, the ring on the King's finger, the duplicate of Miriel's. The truth of it sank in; his sister was now the Elven Queen.

Sensing that all was well for the moment, Miriel said, "I think I should go and see Ma, alone. Perhaps when you are both done, you can join me." They both nodded at her. As she departed, she could hear Braedon chattering in the same enthusiastic tones as Da, about his craft.

Unseen to her, under the watchful organization of Sidhion, the homestead was now surrounded by roughly a dozen guards, hidden from sight. Sidhion took his responsibility to protect his King and Queen with the greatest seriousness. Even in this sleepy village, watch was kept as if the orcs of Dol Guldur were expected to threaten.

Miriel entered the house, and noiselessly went to Ma's room. Ma slept, and the sight of her wrenched Miriel's spirit. Her once vibrant mother now looked like a corpse that had forgotten to die. Silent tears poured from her eyes. _This won't do_ , she told herself. _You have to get a hold of yourself. You were always the strong one, and they need that strength now. You know how to hide your feelings, you managed it most of your life. Manage it again._ Drying her cheeks, she seated herself on the bed, and took Ma's hand, gently stroking the fingers that now seemed so frail and thin. She hardened her mind, willing the grief that swirled around her to go far away.

"Ma. Ma, wake up. It is Miriel, Ma. I've come home to see you." Iris' eyelids fluttered, as she gasped. "Miriel! Miriel, is this really you? I have dreamed so many times that you came home, and none of them were real."

"Ma, it is really me. It is not a dream. I am here, now." Miriel reached forward, and embraced her mother, holding her for a long time.

"Miriel."

Miriel sat up straight, taking Ma's hands again. "I am here, Ma," she said, hoping her smile was as reassuring as she meant it to be.

"I gave up hope, Miriel. Losing your Da was so very hard, but I tried to manage. But when I lost you as well....I couldn't. I was never strong, like you, Miriel. I am sorry. I never believed I would see you again. I love Braedon, but too much of my heart was gone, and I was sure it would never come back."

Not being reduced to sobs at hearing this was likely the most difficult thing Miriel would do in many weeks. She looked down, lest she lose her tenuous self-control.

"Everything is going to be alright, from here on out, Ma. I am so sorry, that you went through this."

Iris rubbed her daughter's hands, a tiny flicker of light returning to her eyes, and only then did she notice the ring. "Miriel, what is this? This must be worth more than our house."

"It is my wedding ring, Ma. I am married now." Miriel smiled.

"Married? Miriel, to who?" Iris' eyes lit up with eagerness. Miriel knew her Ma, very well.

"Would you like to meet him, Ma? He came here with me."

Iris nodded enthusiastically. Miriel's heart leaped, to see just a little color come into her mother's cheeks. "I will get him, Ma."

"Miriel, wait!" Ma whispered excitedly. "Is he handsome?"

Miriel smiled. Her mother was simple, and innocent, and she loved her for it. "He is more than handsome, Ma. You had best prepare yourself. I will be back, very soon."

Miriel returned to the woodshop, to find her brother and husband deep in conversation about the merits of grafted walnut, for use in fine furniture items. Miriel held out her hand to Thranduil. "Forgive my interruption here, but if Ma does not get to meet my handsome husband inside of thirty seconds, I fear she will injure herself trying to find us."

Braedon smiled. "We will continue, later, my Lord." Amused, the King followed his wife.

Miriel entered the room first, and sat at the bedside. "Ma, I just want you to not get too excited, can you promise me that? I am worried, for your health."

Iris smiled. "I promise, Miriel, but this is the kind of excitement I have needed since the day you left us. I have missed you, daughter, more than you can know."

Hearing this, just outside the door, Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut. Breathing deeply, he walked into the small room, and seated himself opposite Miriel. He took the woman's hand in his own."Iris", he said gently. "I am pleased to meet you, at last." Deep shock overcame the woman's features, and Thranduil could see the illness within her.

Miriel spoke quickly. "Do not be afraid, Ma. He is my husband, who has given me every happiness. We are here to take care of you. You have a new son in your family, just not quite one you could have imagined."

Iris struggled to find words for what her mind could barely reconcile. "Miriel, you married the Elvenking?"

Smiling, Thranduil did not hesitate. "She did, Iris, and the Elvenking counts himself the most fortunate man in the world, to have found such a treasure."

Hearing him speak, Iris turned her eyes to look at him, some of the fear diminishing. "I do not know how to address you, my Lord," she whispered.

"To you, dear lady, I am Thranduil. Although when we are not in private, you might get fewer strange looks if you call me the King, or my Lord." He paused. "Iris, you are ill, and I cannot allow that. Look into my eyes now. Whatever you feel in your body, pay it no mind." The King laid his hands in the hollows of each of her shoulders, as he watched the flickers of confusion and disbelief cross his patient's face. When he finished, Iris looked much different. "You will need to take more food, and recover your strength, Iris. Your family is under my care now, and you will not be permitted to relapse into despair and illness."

Iris' eyes were like saucers. "Thank you, my Lord." Miriel bent over to kiss her mother. As she rose, Iris clearly saw her daughter's healed ears, and her expression changed. Miriel did not notice, but Thranduil did.

"My Lord," said Iris timidly, "might we talk privately, for a moment? There are some things a mother wants to say to her daughter's husband."

Miriel smiled, pleased that her mother was recovering her equilibrium so quickly. "I will excuse myself, to go and bother my brother."


	8. Eight

When Iris was sure Miriel had gone, she looked at the King timidly. "Please forgive me, my Lord. This is...quite a lot of news, for me."

"Iris." Thranduil spoke kindly. "There is no need to fear me. Something troubles your heart. Tell me, please."

"Nice and direct, I like that in a man," she said, nervously. Taking a deep breath, she began. "My Lord, Miriel must have told you that she was not born to Bëor and myself. But there is something I found out recently, that has been a weight in my heart since the day I heard it. Miriel's Da told me, on his deathbed, things I had never known. I had just lost my husband, and my world was falling apart. I knew I should say something to Miriel, but I just couldn't do it. I was afraid I'd lose her, and it would have been more than I could bear. And then when you took her, I felt like I was being punished for doing wrong, for not speaking up. And it _was_ more than I could bear. I wondered if you somehow knew, and took her from me because of it."

Iris' distress was mounting, and Thranduil took her hand, brushing his fingers across her cheeks. "Everything will be well, Iris. Do not be anxious. I did not take Miriel from you, because of something I knew. Go on."

Iris breathed deeply, searching for the courage to continue. "This is what Miriel's Da told me. You see, we had been wed for more than five years. I wanted a child very badly, and we tried, but none came. I tried to hide from my husband how I felt, but I don't think I did a very good job. He blamed himself, though goodness knows it was no one's fault. He had gone to Dale, like he did every year, to trade his pieces. While he was there, he overheard bad men, talking. My Bëor was always one for being clever around bad folk. He knew how to listen without seeming like he was, how to keep his mouth shut, when to act and when to leave. So he heard talk among some of them, that they had come across an very young elf child, a beautiful little thing, with the prettiest eyes. The parents had been found killed on the Great East Road, though what they were doing in such places, no one said. It looked to have been orcs, or some foul thing. Miriel had been hidden, and survived, and when she finally started wandering, these men found her. They thought they would be clever and use her to some kind of profit, counting on her pretty eyes to make her valuable. But they knew, see, that it wouldn't work if people could see plain as day she was an elf. So they cut her ears. They figured a little damage somewhere else wouldn't amount to much.

When my Bëor heard this, he said he went about half out of his mind, at the idea of all that happening to an innocent little girl. Those bad men got rowdy on too much drink, and Bëor found out where they must be hiding the little one. He packed up his wagon, waited for dark, and then he made his move. He stole her away quick as a rabbit, kept her shushed, and then tucked her away safe to hide inside a sack, all soft and comfy with cloths to cushion her. That way if anyone came along, she'd just be like potatoes in the wagon, no one would know. He made down the path home as fast as his pony would go, to get far away from there. But as he drove home with the sweet little thing, he made a terrible decision. He brought her to me, knowing how badly I wanted a little one. He lied to me, my Lord. Said he just found her, crying on the road alone, and that she needed a Ma and Da. Bëor never said anything about knowing that she was an elf. The little one knew her name was Miriel, bless her heart, and she picked up our talk right quick. Oh, how I loved her, my Lord. She was sunshine into my heart, and those eyes. I didn't know how old she was when she came. Maybe that's what helped me not think about it, when she grew up so quick and smart. We kept to ourselves mostly, and we were just family. And then, Braedon came along after all, and Miriel looked after her brother as much as I did. I am a simple woman, my Lord. I only ever wanted a child to love. When Bëor told me what he'd done, I felt like most of the life was going out of me. Within a few hours I lost him, and I knew I should somehow send her to you. But I couldn't. I just couldn't. Forgive me, my Lord. It was wrong, to deny her knowing who her kin really were."

Thranduil's lips parted, as this confession ran on. In spite of himself, a tear ran down his cheek. He was confronting, for the first time, the sorrows of those without the gifts of the Eldar, and they struck his spirit deeply. There was pain here, and also honesty, love, and trueness of heart. Perhaps he did not know as much of this world as he liked to believe.

"Iris," he said softly. "There is nothing to forgive. The fault in this was not yours. Miriel is yet very young, for an elf, and she is with us now and will be always. As will you, Iris. I wish to bring you and Braedon to live with us. You will have Miriel, and be cared for as long as you live. You raised her to be the one who has taken my heart. And I took her away from you, causing you great sorrow. I would remedy that, if you will allow it."

Tears welled up in the woman's eyes. "If my son would go, my Lord, I would as well. It sounds like I need to be rising from this bed, and making some refreshment, as there are things to talk about. I will tell Miriel and Braedon what I told you, my Lord, but would you grant me a little time?"

Thranduil smiled. "You have an honest heart, Iris. This is your own private business. But as it affects Miriel as one of my subjects, I thank you for telling me."

"If Braedon and I go with you, my Lord, do we become your subjects too?"

Thranduil paused. "While you could remain as my guests, in order to fully live and be occupied alongside us in our home, it would be...strongly preferable for us to have the obligations between us clearly stated. Simply put, Iris, my subjects swear an oath of fealty to me, and I swear an oath of duty to them. I promise to protect and care for each one, and they promise to loyally serve and obey me. But I will not force anyone to take this oath; it must come from a willing heart. You would have time, in which to decide."

Iris nodded, sitting up in bed.

"I take my leave for now, Iris." He closed the door behind him, to allow her privacy. Shaking his head, he smiled. If someone would have told him he would be doing this, even six months ago, he would have openly laughed. And yet, he regretted none of it.

Rejoining Miriel and Braedon, Thranduil decided he may as well make his offer to Braedon, since Iris would not budge unless the young man did. Seeing he had an air of determination about him, Miriel kissed him in passing and returned to Ma.

"Well, Ma, did he meet with your approval?" Miriel teased, as Ma emerged from her room, tying on an apron and looking quite literally resurrected from near death.

"That is a fine man you've found yourself, Miriel, though I doubt I need to tell you that." Iris sighed wistfully. "I would have liked to have seen the wedding, though. How was it? Very fine, and fancy?"

Miriel laughed. "Elves do not have weddings like you are used to, Ma. It is only the exchange of vows about a sentence long, in private. But for me, it was very beautiful. I don't believe anyone in the world ever had quite the same setting."

"Really? What was it, Miriel?" Iris asked eagerly.

"You may not tell this to any of the villagers, Ma, it is how the King wants it. He does not ride a horse, he rides a great elk. We exchanged our vows on a beautiful winter day, in a place we could look out over the Lonely Mountain, on the back of his elk."

Ma shook her head. "He is a hunter, isn't he, Miriel." It was a question, not a statement.

"I'm afraid so, Ma. But he talks about it less than I do, so you don't need to be afraid."

Taking another tack, Iris asked, "How did you know you were falling in love with him, Miriel?"

Some thought was given to this. "I wore a dress for him, Ma." Iris dropped her wooden spoon in surprise. "Ma, I missed you."

"I missed you too, Miriel. Now help me make some tea, and biscuits." Both women looked at each other, and peals of laughter erupted from both of them, but especially Iris.

The sound carried to the workshop, where Braedon heard it. A smile of relief washed over his face as Thranduil finished speaking. "My Lord, I never thought to hear that sound again. Thank you, for what you did for Ma. I wish to hear more of your plan, but unless there is something very objectionable that you have not yet mentioned, I will agree to go with you. Perhaps we should go into the house, and discuss all these matters as one?"

Thranduil smiled. "Of course."

A short time later they were assembled before a cozy fire, with tea and biscuits. Thranduil politely nibbled at one and found it to his liking. After many hours of talking and many cups of tea, terms were arrived at. Both the contents of Da's workshop and their personal items would be moved to the Palace, as soon as was possible. The workshop items would take priority, as the carefully seasoned woods and specialty tools were not easily replaceable. In exchange for their oaths of fealty, they would become members of the Royal Household. Braedon would be expected to carry on his trade; his work would bear both Bëor's mark and the King's emblem. In exchange for the goods sold, they would expect to be well cared for, and protected. Iris would find light occupation where she was able, once her health was fully restored. When they aged and could no longer work, their care and keeping would be assured. Should Braedon or Iris wish to depart, they would be released from their vows and be assisted to establish new dwellings. Should Braedon or Iris wish to seek out spouses, with the King's consent, those persons could join them. And as long as a fair ratio of them worked productively, the arrangement could exist indefinitely.

Miriel listened, and wondered about...productivity. Thranduil was a shrewd negotiator. He was fair, but did not give something for nothing. She found it odd, in a way. Her job description seemed to amount to, The King's Happiness. It certainly seemed like a luxurious assignment, she mused. Though, she had lately been giving thought to another way in which she might contribute. Her skills in the forest, and also her ability to work deer hides...she had not seen so much of that. Perhaps she could teach others, or even teach the use of her assorted devices. Something? And that reminded her...she'd left behind a large supply of processed sinew that she very much missed, in one of the sheds. Excusing herself, as the conversation was winding down, she made to go retrieve it before it could escape her attention. With her mind pondering assorted uses for cordage, she walked to the shed, situated just beyond the workshop. Opening the door, she realized to her annoyance that Braedon had moved a few things, and stepped in further to search among the haphazard jumble of objects.

Suddenly she was roughly pushed hard, from behind, knocking her head into a piece of shelving. As she struggled to get her feet under her, she heard a voice say, "Hold her, boys. It's nice and cozy in here, for just the four of us."

Morden. She did not even wait to see what came next, but exploded in a scream of fury. Her hand closed around a short handled shovel, and with all her might she swung it around to ward off the hands seeking to grab her. Determined to make noise, she threw a steel bucket through the shed window, shattering glass everywhere. Finding a grass hook, she waved it menacingly.

"Now darling," Morden said. "I've waited a long time to pick up where I left off. Who do you think is going to help you, that sawed off lil' brother of yours? I told you once, you're gonna be all mine. But first, I owe you a little for that broken nose." She slashed viciously at them, but she could not keep three of them off at once in a space this confined. Powerfully, she kicked out with her legs, but not before one of them had secured her left arm. The other two men were foul, brutish looking, and certainly appeared to not have firm convictions about bathing.

"Now Miriel, this will go easier if you don't put up such a fuss," Morden leered.

"I will kill you," Miriel hissed at him, writhing and twisting with a strength that the men had not expected. She had almost worked herself free, when she saw the opportunity to kick at Morden's face, and she took it. Her boot connected with his jaw, and his face filled with rage. "When I'm through with you, you'll wish you'd never been born," he hissed. At that moment, Morden was knocked forward off his feet by the force of the door being pushed open behind him. His face fell against Miriel's chest. Revolted, she kicked upward into his groin at the same time he was pulled off of her. Sidhion had come. In the blink of an eye, the three men had been hauled out of the shed, with two elven guards on each of them. Bright swords were held to their throats. Morden was on the ground, still writhing in pain from the kick she'd delivered to him. Sidhion held Miriel by the arm, as she tried to understand if she was hurt or not. She touched her aching head, and found some blood. Before she had time to even think on it, Thranduil was there, and she was in his arms. The King nodded to Sidhion, who bowed and stepped out.

"I am sorry, my Lord," she said weakly, trying to find a smile. "I know you said you would have liked to seen me break his nose, but I only managed to kick his manhood."

"Miriel," he said, holding her to him. He found the bleeding bruise on her head, and healed it. Not waiting to ask if she had other injuries, he searched her mind to know that she was disoriented but otherwise unhurt. "What is the law, here, Miriel? Who dispenses justice?"

"Morden's father," she said bitterly. "They are wealthy traders. Their great house is but two furlongs hence."

"Come." As they walked the next few steps, she saw cold wrath come over her husband, greater than any she had yet witnessed. With one hand, Thranduil grabbed Morden by the front of his clothing, and hauled him up off his feet.

"Do you know who I am?" the King hissed, his voice filled with rage.

Morden's eyes filled with terror, as he nodded mutely.

"Were you inside the borders of my forest, my sword would already have parted your head from your miserable body. But we are not. So, I am going to drag you to your father. And you are going to be judged for assaulting my Queen with the intent to violate her."

He threw Morden to the ground, and elegantly bent down to grasp the man's ankle. Braedon and Iris had watched all of this from a slight distance, horrified. Thranduil very kindly and evenly spoke to Braedon. "Take your mother inside, Braedon, and care for her. All will be well; we will return here within the hour. It would be best, if you began your preparations to leave."

Gesturing to his guards to follow, he spoke to Miriel. "If you will lead the way, please?"

Indicating the direction with her hand, she began walking. Whimpering, sputtering, and snatches of protest and whinges babbled up from the rear. All expression she schooled off her face, but privately, she knew she would sacrifice six months' hunting for how much she was about to enjoy whatever came next. The King ensured that he found every mud puddle, every bit of animal waste and a few low lying brambles for good measure, as he walked along. When the noises became too much, Thranduil turned and fetched him a kick in the ribs. Every so often, he would yank on the leg, flipping him up into the air like a rag doll, only to twist him round so that he was dragged face down for a time. Were it anyone else, she would have begged Thranduil to show pity. But not for Morden. He did not deserve to live, in her estimation. She wanted to smile and openly enjoy this more, but she had too much respect for the depth of her husband's emotions.

In what seemed to her not nearly a long enough time, they arrived at the Great House of Talor, the ancestral home of Morden's family. They had made their fortune trading in cloth, both ordinary and fine. When the King realized who this was, a cruel smile played across his face. Sidhion preceded the King and opened the doors for him. Thranduil had drawn his sword, and Miriel remained very close to him. Some less than savory looking men initially moved to challenge them, but backed down quickly at the sight of the elven guard, all with drawn swords, surrounding their King and Queen in formation. A well-dressed man with silvering hair hurried to meet them, with an anxious look on his face. His voice clearly rang out toward the approaching King.

"My Lord Thranduil, how may I be of service? I am Belend, of the House of Talor."

Thranduil stopped, gesturing to his guards to bring the other prisoners forward. "I am here, Belend of the House of Talor, demanding justice. These two men, led by this piece of filth, were stopped in the act of assaulting my wife with the intent to violate her." Thranduil roughly tossed Morden at his father's feet.

"Father I can..."

"SILENCE," Belend roared over the sound of his son's whimpering, turning his attention back to the King.

"I hardly know what to say, my Lord, but I assure you, I will give satisfaction. You do not object to me asking to hear the details of what occurred?"

Thranduil now laid his hand on Miriel's shoulder, and kept it there. The guards parted, and Belend saw her. "My Lord has wed with Miriel? We had heard she was taken by your Lordship, but we did not know of your marriage."

"You do now," the King said icily. "Miriel, describe what occurred, please."

With a blank face and a heart filled with gleeful malice, she complied with the request of the King, being sure to reference the earlier attack on her as well. As both the King and Belend listened, their anger mounted. Thranduil spoke first after she finished, his voice filled with cold rage.

"It is apparent to me, Belend of the House of Talor, that either your desire or your ability to control your offspring is nonexistent. Justice will be granted to me, or I need not remind you that you will suddenly find yourself without trade agreements with the Woodland Realm, one year hence."

Belend looked down at his son in disgust.

"What is the justice you desire, my Lord?"

Thranduil looked back, his blue eyes ablaze. "The justice I desire is my sword passing through his neck; and it is what he would have had, were we standing but one foot inside my borders. I will not ask a father to slay his son, nor to order such. I will be satisfied, then, with taking him as my prisoner. He will be kept in my cells, cared for adequately, until such time as I see fit to release him. If he merits it, he may be allowed to work in payment for his crime. As for the others, you will record their names and send the information on to my seneschal. They are to be banished from this place. If I so much as catch a whisper that they have been seen in these parts, I will hold you responsible. Furthermore, I expect that you will be willing to make a generous offer on the value of this family's home, to stand against the expenses of holding your son. They are henceforth under my care and jurisdiction, and in a matter of days will no longer reside in this village."

"Father I..."

"I WARNED YOU," Belend roared. "You were admonished, you were counseled, and you would not turn aside from your blackhearted foolishness. You have disgraced this house for the last time, and are no son of mine." Looking down for a moment to calm himself, Belend turned his gaze back to the King. He knew he had no choice but to meet all of Thranduil's demands, and with an appearance of full submission to boot. To do otherwise was to bring certain financial ruin on his life's work.

"My Lord Thranduil, my Lady Miriel, with my humblest apologies for the wrong done to you, I gladly grant the justice you seek. I will send your seneschal my offer for the purchase of their homestead; if it meets with your approval, the sum or the value thereof of your choosing will be remitted immediately to your representative." Belend bowed deeply to the King, after speaking.

Thranduil waved to the guards, who immediately removed a considerably bruised and abraded Morden amidst howls of protest. With a curt nod, Thranduil turned and left, with Miriel's hand on his arm.

After they had retreated, Belend approached the other two thugs, indicating for several of his hired house guards to come. "I already know your names, and they will be given to the King. You are to leave this place within two hours. The extra time is granted, because you may not be walking quickly. Outside this hall, you are going to be shown what happens to men who assault women, in this village. Get them out of here." He waved his hand to his guards.

Removing a handkerchief and mopping his brow, he considered himself very fortunate that this encounter had not had far worse consequences.

****

As they walked back, Miriel took Thranduil's hand. "My Lord, are you...well?" She knew better than to assume his calm exterior meant that he felt the same, inside of himself.

"I am angry, Miriel, though that feeling is leaving me. I could have lost you, and that is not a thought I can move past easily."

She frowned. "My Lord, I do not believe he intended to kill me. I think we both know that he had something else in mind."

He stopped walking, to take both of her arms and look in her eyes. "Miriel, you were not told this because I could not ever have imagined a reason you would need to know. Elves cannot be raped. Your fëa would have been forced to depart from your body, fleeing to the Halls of Mandos, in order to keep that man from succeeding. While the Valar would have protected you in this way, you would have been lost to me, until I crossed the sea to Valinor to be with you. And I would not be free to do so, by the bonds of my oaths and my duty, for an immeasurable length of time. I have never felt the sea-longing, Miriel. I would be forced into choices and consequences that would be a torment me, no matter what transpired. It would grieve my spirit in a way I cannot even consider, Miriel, were this to have happened."

Her face clouded over, as her stomach turned. "Thranduil," she whispered. "I am sorry, I..."

"Miriel. You did not know. I did not tell you to burden you or criticize your words. But if you are to understand why I am not entirely well at this exact moment, you needed to hear it." Lowering her eyes, she nodded, and said no more.

As they continued, she felt misery settling over her. She never wished to come to this village, nor enter the world of men again. Now that she knew, all she could think on were how many times she had avoided this outcome, by accident or fate. It was one time too many, that an injustice was done against the simple needs of her spirit. She had only ever sought peace, and solitude. A crack appeared, in the housing of her will and her resilience. It would prove to be the first of many. She schooled her expression to reveal nothing, and walked on.

They returned to the homestead only moments before the remainder of the elves arrived. Under the King's direction, Sidhion issued instructions; swiftly, the elves began loading the wagons. Miriel excused herself once again. She had never found her sinew, and returned to the shed. Closing the door behind her, she realized how badly she wanted to be alone. As she half-heartedly began rooting around among the unimportant belongings, she could no longer suppress the despair she now felt. Sinking down, she sat in the corner, with her forehead on her knees, and began to silently weep. When no more tears came, she stared ahead. And in the corner opposite her, she saw her sinew. She wiped her face clean, and reached forward to extract her bundle. Feeling hollow and wooden, she raised her eyes to the slats of the ceiling. Slats Da had made, so long ago, when he built this homestead with his own hands. Rubbing at her face, she twisted her features into a pleasant deception, and returned.

They departed an hour before sunset. Ma was seated in one of the wagons with Braedon, alongside a kind elleth assigned to see to her comfort and be company to her. Miriel and the King walked alongside, until they crossed the border into the forest. Thranduil sent his quavering whistle into the silence, and soon the great elk appeared. Ma gasped, not having entirely understood what Miriel meant, when she had explained the animal. It was with open admiration of her daughter that she saw her brought up to sit in front of her husband, her bow slung across her body.

The ride home was uneventful. From time to time, Thranduil would bring the elk alongside the wagon with Miriel's family, and Miriel made her best effort to speak to them kindly and encouragingly. She did not want what had happened to mar their experience; of all present, she knew how great the transition was that they would be facing. For their comfort, she made a great effort. The rest of the time, she was silent, as was Thranduil. At one point in the night, she must have drifted to sleep for awhile, but her husband's strong arms held her. When she woke, she would have given much to leap to the ground and vanish into the woods. As the hours wore on, her thoughts were of climbing trees, and running silently.

It was well into the following morning when at last they drew near to the Palace. Miriel took Ma to her former rooms, that were now to be hers. She knew Ma was exhausted, and settled her in quickly to be able to go to bed. Braedon's rooms were not quite so elaborate but yet very nice, and he was placed comfortably as well. Bidding them a good rest, the royal couple returned at last to their own rooms. Wordlessly, Miriel removed her accoutrements and went to bathe. For a long time, she simply stared into space. And afterward, she found the abrasive cleansers and scrubbed and scrubbed, as though if by working off every scrap of dead skin, she might remove some of the foulness of her experience. After awhile, she buried her head in her hands. The sum of every attempted assault on her body and every indignity to her spirit came crashing down on her in the quiet of the small chamber, and amidst muted cries of anguish she wept.

"Miriel," she heard behind her.

She did not move, and only responded in a whisper. "My Lord." Cloth rustled behind her, and soon he sat in the water next to her. He pulled her to him, and held her tightly.

"Miriel, I am sorry. I should not have told you. You have not been the same since I did. Do not think I have not noticed."

She did not answer him, except to say, after a long pause,"I wish to never leave the forest again." Thranduil closed his eyes tightly shut. This is what he had feared. Just as when she was little, and blamed being attacked on wearing a dress, an entirely new manifestation of the same problem had arisen. And he could guess at what her response would be, if he were to force this issue right now. He could not promise to uphold this wish, nor did he want to. And yet this did not feel like the time to have that conversation.

"I love you, Miriel, no matter what." A cry of grief escaped her lips, and she clung to him, sobbing. He rocked her, and held her, until there was no more. She kissed him, and thereafter sought his love. Once she was sleeping, in their bed, he rose to attend to other matters. And yet the feeling did not escape him, that a shadow had come over the both of them, and their happiness.


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are references in this chapter to Míriel þerinde. Míriel and Miriel are two different persons; that accent mark over the "i" matters a great deal! If you have not read the Silmarillion may not make sense. If you wish to understand a "short version", reading this will help: 
> 
> "There was much love between Míriel and Finwë, and even more for her son, but after giving birth to Fëanor in Y.T. 1169[2], her body and her spirit were consumed and she wished to be released from life everlasting, saying that there was no strength left in her to bear another child. Despite Finwë's grief, and her unhappiness at abandoning her young child, Míriel departed for the gardens of Lórien, to rest and regain her strength and vigour. But during her rest, the fëa departed from her body, and entered the Halls of Mandos leaving her body laying lifeless and still in Y.T. 1170[2]. Maidens of Estë took care of her body while her spirit remained in the Halls Of Mandos, so that it would not wither. In essence, she had died of free will. This was seen as a shocking event by the Valar and Eldar which had never before occurred. Manwë allowed Finwë to take another wife given these exceptional circumstances.[3]" Copied from www.tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Míriel

The years flowed, one into the other. Eventually, Thranduil learned the identity of Miriel; the daughter of two parents of Noldorin lineage. These had been journeying to the Havens, enroute to the Undying Lands, when they were waylaid. He told Miriel of what he had learned. But as they were the last of her blood kin to depart Ennor, in the end it mattered not.

Ma lived happily, until the end of her time, cared for and loved. Many of the ellith who worked in the Palace came to know her, as she offered her skilled hands and her cheer in the kitchens, the gardens, and among the seamstresses. Many of them learned Westron, and Ma even learned some Sindarin. Braedon also brought honor in his service to the King. The crafts and furniture from the Woodland Realm during his residence brought a premium price, and he took pride and joy in every day of his work, never seeking for himself a wife and a family. When they each passed, it was sorrow for Miriel, who already struggled to hide the darkening of her heart. Often she stole into the woods, and often it taxed Sidhion's ability to guard her. In time, his skills came to match her own. With the warning of the King concerning her increasing proclivity for solitude, Sidhion learned to keep just as much of an eye on the window of their rooms as elsewhere.

Thranduil knew she sometimes sought to elude Sidhion, in daytime forays. Her truest happiness now seemed to come from her hours in the forest, and Thranduil tried to strike a balance between this need of her heart and her own safety. As decades passed into centuries, the woods darkened, as the shadow of evil seeped in and sickened the once vibrant forest. Miriel's heart fell under the same pall. She made great efforts to hide her melancholy from him, giving her all to attend to him and relieve the burdens of his duties. Too many times, though, did he come upon her when she was unaware of him, and he beheld her face. She could not hide her heart from him. He knew that much of the light had gone out of her, and he did not know how to restore it. Morden had perished long ago, in his cell. In Thranduil's eyes, his attack on her had been that from which her spirit never recovered. There had never been any intention of releasing him. He would linger and die, in payment for his crime. And so it was.

Miriel keenly felt the sting of her own failure. She knew that she could not hide her deterioration from her husband as she wished she could. Her own heart turned on her in recrimination, for her inability to give him what she believed he deserved from her. It was a perpetuating cycle, of doubt and despair, that Thranduil's own reassurances could not penetrate. Any hope Thranduil once had, that she might in time come to share his rule over the Realm, faded long ago. If such strength had ever been in her, it was lost. It was merely another facet by which her own perceived inadequacy mirrored back at her.

A midsummer's day came, in which she looked on Thranduil from the shadows in his Hall. A wedded couple brought their newborn elfling to the throne of the King, seeking his blessing. The look of joy on her husband's face was unmistakable. Miriel had never felt the desire for a child, but now the thought would not leave her mind that it was the one thing she could yet give him, that could bring him the happiness he deserved.

From that day forward, she sought his body with a ferocity that surprised and pleased him both. Long months passed, until the moment came. They had loved each other, and the following morning he had departed for his duties. Standing and looking out the window, she fell to the floor in weakness, as though half the strength had been torn from her spirit. As she lay on the rug, enervated, she reached her hand to rest over her womb, and knew that she was now with child. It took hours, just to crawl to the couch, where she slept away the day. Thranduil no longer came for each meal; that had faded away centuries ago. When he finally returned, she told him, and saw joy spread over his face. This alone, to her, was worth the terrible price of her own enfeeblement. It was a triumph. Her child would be strong, she knew, because it had taken a great portion of her to itself.

Thranduil cared for Miriel with fervor, during the year of her pregnancy. There were times when it almost seemed like the wound in her spirit had closed, as she made every effort to see joy restored to her husband, even as she could not restore it to herself. She labored long and hard, to bring the child forth from her body. So difficult was the birth, the King feared he would lose her. He could keep her healed and relieve her pain, but he could not infuse the needed strength into her. When their son finally came into the world, she was spent, unable to even hold him. Thranduil had to keep the infant at his mother's breast, because Miriel was too weak to even lift her arms to touch him. It was Ethuil, the springtime of the year. The King kept their window wide open, knowing that the sight of the trees would help her.

"Miriel, what will you call our son?" he asked, tenderly, as he covered her hand in thankful kisses. As her sunken eyes gazed out to the woods beyond, she saw the birch trees crowning with leaves. "He is my little greenleaf," she said. "I will call him Legolas." Miriel had now been wed to Thranduil for a thousand years, with nearly all of that time spent under a shadow that would not leave her. This day provided her the one shining moment in which she truly believed she had given her husband something of genuine worth.

Miriel loved Legolas in a way she would not have believed possible. She did not tire of whispering to him of the forest, and the trees, and the hunt. And yet for most other things, she would step back and let Thranduil, or even Sidhion, direct the upbringing of her son. From the time Legolas could run or climb, Miriel would slip away with him into the forest, teaching him all her art. She determined that he would be greater than her and the King combined, in his woodcraft. She was not the warrior that her husband was...but then again, Thranduil could not truly match her raw skill at hunting. That she left with the child, unguarded, was maddening to Thranduil. He increasingly fretted and agonized over the evil that entered his Realm, passing through his nets at every turn. A great sickness emanated from Amon Lanc, which was once his home of old. Now it was named Dol Guldur, and had become a place beyond his borders where even he dared not go. There were whispers of a Necromancer, and many foul things came thence.

Their strife over her forays into the woods with young Legolas increased, until finally Thranduil, undone with fear for the safety of his wife and son, spoke heated words and forced her to come with him and many patrols to the nests of the Great Spiders. When she beheld them with her own eyes, she ceased her outings, and withdrew into silence. Soon enough in the life of the Eldar, the Prince came of age. Legolas never comprehended the distance he perceived between his father and mother. Not understanding, he imagined that the blame must lie with his stern father. Miriel always responded to her son kindly, and was fully present for him. Because of her great efforts on his behalf, Legolas did not see that to all others, she was but a walking shadow. He could not perceive that his father hardened himself in order to survive the crumbling of his wife's spirit, or that the King daily watched his beloved, who once blazed with happiness and vigor, succumbing to frailty and despair.

Winters were hardest for her, but each year the promise of spring gave her waning heart the conviction to continue. To his credit, Thranduil never wavered in his devotion to her. In moments of brutal honesty, he admitted to himself that while he was yet convinced their love was true, she may not have been the wisest choice for the wife of a King. She had loved him to her fullest and given him her all; he believed this without question. But that he should have seen she was not as strong as she would need to be, to walk fully alongside him...this he did not take the time to discover. Would he have chosen differently, or broken away from her before they wed, had he understood? He honestly could not say, though, he doubted it. Only Miriel had ever stirred the longing of his heart, for a wife. It was not him she turned from; it was the world in which she needed to live. There were times he almost believed he should suggest to her that she sail, but he could not speak the words. He did not wish to be parted from her, and it was his deepest fear that she would hear it as his final judgement against what she knew were her shortcomings. At other times, he remembered his words of long ago...that he had taken her, and required her to share his cage. And that cage had all but destroyed her. Or had it? These were the mental torments that would not leave him, in addition to all the many heavy responsibilities that fell on him with the same endlessness as the flow of the Forest River.

A year came in which the winter did not end. In later times, it would come to be known as the Long Winter. The snows came early, and deep, and they did not let up. Legolas by now was greatly occupied with the art of warfare, having risen as the greatest fighter in the Realm, second only to his father. He was comely and regarded highly by all. Though Miriel now saw little of her son, her pride in him did not diminish. Yet as the endless weeks wore on, without sight of the blue sky or sun, she knew her battle with herself was nearly lost.

Under the dark of winter night, as Thranduil slept, she silently rose from their bed, removing her woolen clothing and her bow to the outer rooms. Opening the box containing the jewels he had given her on their wedding day, she carefully placed them in her pouch. She readied herself with a heart senseless from weariness and grief, and whispered to the room that so very long ago had seen the blossoming of their love. "I cannot go on, Thranduil. Forgive me."

Leaping out the window into the tree, she did not descend to the ground. Rather, she climbed higher, and higher. With a mighty leap of desperation, she found the next tree top. And the next, and the next. She kept to the trees for a very long time, silently moving away from the Palace. When she at last dropped down lightly on top of the snows, she ran to the east, her light footfalls skipping over the surface of the drifts. One last time, she desired to look on the place where they had spoken their vows to each other. It required only a little over an hour, at this swift pace, for her to find the clearing. Over the years, she had visited it at times, knowing Sidhion trailed her...but he did not know the meaning of the place. She was certain, this time, that she was not followed.

A great rock was near the edge of the overlook. In the far distance, the clouds were fewer, and she saw the light of the moon shining on the Lonely Mountain, on Erebor. Miriel wept at the memory of their wedding day, and the joy she had once felt. Moving her clothing aside, she fastened the heavy necklace, and felt the weight of his gift on her skin. She prayed aloud to the Valar.

"I do not wish to perish, I do not wish to fade. I do not wish to leave my husband. And yet like Míriel of old, I am spent. My spirit knows only grief, and weariness, and despair. The evils in this world have consumed the forest even as they have consumed me, and my joy is lost. Long have I sought to reclaim it somehow, and long has it eluded me. I have no desire for Aman without my husband, and I can no longer endure Ennor, with the evil that has befallen it. There is no place for me, in all the circles of the world. I beg you for relief, I beg you for respite. I seek rest now, and I will not wake until I find it." In great sorrow, she laid herself down upon the rock. Wrapping her cloak tightly around her, she closed her eyes, and willed herself into darkness that contained neither thought nor feeling.

****

When Thranduil woke the following morning, and saw her things gone, his heart lurched. He retrieved his mirror immediately. "Show me Miriel." The light flared up from within it but then dimmed, only to flare again. And dim again. He had never seen anything like this. The mirror behaved as if it was...confused. He asked it several times in a row, and each time received the same result. A sickening thought occurred to him. "Show me the fae of Miriel." The mirror now blazed into light, as he saw a place that he knew was not of this plane. On a bier of stone, nowhere that he could recognize, Miriel's fae slept in repose. He stopped the vision. "Show me Miriel's rhaw." Once again the mirror blazed, and he saw her sleeping, her bow held across her chest. This location he did know, and with a cry of grief, pulled on his clothes. He stormed out of his room, asking Sidhion to follow. They flew to the stables, where Sidhion leaped on a mount as Thranduil whistled for his elk. Elk after elk had he befriended during the long years, as an endless line of sires and offspring gave him their service for as long as their vigor lasted.

They rode on, hard, to the clearing where once a day of great joy had commenced. He hoped against hope that what the mirror showed him was untrue, or misunderstood. He ran to her, scooping her into his arms, but she was limp. Her body was yet warm, and with tender care Sidhion helped pass her up to him, once the King returned to the saddle. Riding like the wind, they returned to the Palace, where Thranduil rushed her to their couch by the fire. He knew something was terribly wrong, because he could not see her fae. By all appearances she had perished; her heart did not beat nor did her lungs draw breath, and yet warmth still remained in her body. There was nothing for him to heal, because nothing was physically the matter. It was that her spirit had departed, and for that he knew no cure. He did not know what to do.

"Miriel, no," he sobbed, as he knelt alongside her. "Please, come back to me." He covered her exposed skin in kisses, until he saw she wore his necklace. He cried out even harder, knowing in his heart that this was some means by which she was taking a part of him with her. "Miriel," he said, miserably. "Surely I am not as Finwë was? I have made mistakes, Miriel, but I never meant for you to feel driven to this. Is this the ultimate price of my selfishness, in taking you for my own? What could I do, Miriel? I loved you...did I demand more than you could give? Will you not tell me?"

His grief poured out of him in torrents, and no answer came.

*****

The Valar met in solemn assembly. Each Vala had been summoned by Manwë from the far reaches of Aman, to the great ring of Máhanaxar.  Mightiest Lord of the thirteen, he had descended from the clouds of his dwelling at Taniquetil in the uppermost peak of the mountains of the Pélori, to hold council

Manwë spoke. "Long has it been since any petition like this was uttered. And once again, the name is Miriel."

"And yet it is not the petition of Míriel at all," said Mandos, keeper of the Halls of the Dead. "Míriel spoke her refusals to us, and would not be swayed. Miriel has begged for an end to torment that no child of Eru should ever have felt."

"No child of Eru was ever treated as this one was," wept Nienna, Lady of Sorrows. "When but an elfling she was stolen. Mutilated. Raised among men, where thrice and more she was nearly violated. It is unprecedented, for one of the Eldar, much less one so young, to have endured such assaults against the spirit."

Oromë, Lord of the Hunt, spoke. "She is true-hearted. Her joy was in the hunt, and in reverence for the fair creation of Yavanna. Her love for Thranduil remains pure. Miriel said herself she does not desire to leave him. She would yet cling to him, but for the pain in her spirit."

"I do not want her, though she sleeps now outside the doors to my Halls," said Mandos. "Her rhaw did not experience death, nor was she violated. Even now, her rhaw lies yet warm, with Thranduil. Yet with no means to tend it, it will wither. She does not wish to fade, she does not wish to perish. While she might indeed find rest in my keeping, this is not my purpose."

Nienna pressed on. "Long has she shown courage. She gave her last for the comfort of her husband. Had her love not driven her to bear Thranduil a son, she might yet have the strength to go on. If Thranduil had asked it of her, I believe she would have borne him another. Ever has she shown her sincere regard for him. Do we hold her guilty, when despair in the face of evil is what she could not endure?"

Vairë, Weaver of Fate, now made a strong assertion: "The tapestry of Ennor will change. Had she but had the will to continue on for a short time, she would have found relief."

"I would care for her in my gardens in Lórien," said Irmo, the Master of Dreams, "but once there she could not return. It is not her desire; she declared she does not choose life in Aman."

Estë now spoke, having waited to hear all the others. To this Lady, it was granted to heal all hurts and weariness. "I would willingly grant the healing for which she pleads. But she would only come undone again, on account of the evil of Sauron. The same evil that we failed to banish from the land of their dwelling. What Miriel needs is safe passage through time."

Manwë considered all these things. "Then this is the judgement I will bring before Eru. I would grant her the mercy she beseeches. Estë I charge with the restoration of her spirt. Irmo must place upon her a dream, from which she cannot wake, until the appointed time comes. Nienna must offer Thranduil some thread of comfort in his grief. And I will beseech our father for a preserving sleep to be laid on her, until the days of her rest are complete."

"I would add yet one thing, a small gift to Thranduil," Aulë, the Smith, said.

Manwë looked at each, one last time. "So let it be done."


	10. Chapter 10

Thranduil slept, his exhausted body slumped over Miriel's still form. His dreams wandered through dark places. In the distance, he saw light, and a figure that approached him. He walked to meet this one, irresistibly drawn. No face was visible, for the figure was hooded and cloaked in grey. He knew he must show deference, and sank to his knees. The soft and musical voice of a woman filled his ears, but it was not Miriel that spoke. "I come to offer you comfort, and hope, through your trial of grief. Care for her and protect her, Thranduil, until the time is come." The woman knelt to face him, and took his hand in her own. She pulled it to the warmth of her unseen face, and he felt her tears on his skin. As she removed his hand and released it, he now saw that the stone in his wedding ring blazed with a green light, filling his vision.

Startled, he awoke, with a gasp. Was it a trick of his eyes, that he thought he saw a last flicker of light leaving the stone in his ring? The words he heard in his dream rang through his mind as he tried to think, tried to sort out the images. As he looked on Miriel, he thought he saw an imperceptible rise of her chest. Hurriedly pulling her to him, he pressed his ear against her. There was a heartbeat. It was very slow, but it was there. Running to retrieve his mirror, he held it under her nose, and saw the faintest fogging of the glass. Elated, he gently shook her.

"Miriel! Miriel! Please, Miriel, wake for me. Wake like you used to, when I first brought you to live with me. Let me see your beautiful eyes," he pleaded. But she did not wake. And he recalled the dream, and considered every word, and the speaker. "Nienna," he whispered. It was little to go on, but he understood there was hope. He could see, her fae had returned. But something was yet very wrong, and apparently what he now saw was the will of the Valar. There would be pain for him, and grief. That much was already apparent. Yet the tears of Nienna held great power. He could only humbly wait, and endure. He picked up Miriel's hand and held it, as he spoke his prayer.

"I sincerely thank you for your mercy, though I do not understand. I beg you to grant me strength, to see your will done." With a heavy heart, he carried her to their bed. Gently, he removed her hunting clothing, but he left the jewels around her neck. He brought loose, comfortable garments, and placed these on her body. Pulling back the covers, he laid her in the bed, with her body supported against the pillows. He covered her, and placed her folded hands on top of the bedclothes. Finding a comb, he cared for her hair. She now peacefully slept. He kissed her on her brow, recalling the first time he ever did so, after he vowed to care for her and protect her. Tears splashed from his eyes. But at least he had hope, he told himself. She could be dead, lost to him across the sea. While he did not know what this was, it was not that. He had no choice but to trust, and wait.

Legolas came, and listened to all that had happened. "Ada, I do not know what to say," were his only words. Though at times the Prince came to visit his mother, he and his father never spoke on this matter again.

Each night, Thranduil slept at her side. He would sometimes hold her in his arms, or nestle against her to hear the beat of her heart. It was small comfort, but it was something. Whatever the enchantment was that lay upon her, she did not wither. As days became weeks, months, and years, there was never change. Eleven and a half years after she fell into sleep, the dragon came, laying waste to Erebor, and Dale. The beautiful view that had graced their wedding vows was now the Desolation of Smaug. The days darkened more, as the evil increased. Ever more burdens weighed upon him for the safety of his people, and ever more he withdrew into the fortress of his Halls, with gates that now sealed shut magically, at his command. It was not until one hundred and seventy-one years after this ruin, that the dwarves came to reclaim their home. In an excess of caution, he imprisoned them for lying about why they sought passage through his forest. When Smaug was defeated, against hope, he thought to gain some of the unguarded treasure for himself. And while some wealth did come of it, he found himself drawn into a storm he had not expected to weather. It was at the cost of lives to whom he owed his duty. The pain he felt was bottomless, at returning after the battle to the living body of his wife, when others came home as corpses to their families. It grieved him, deeply, and he suffered.

And still the shadows worsened. He was asked to imprison a vile creature, whose accidental escape was as the first pebbles sliding down a mountainside. He sent his son to Imladris as an emissary, to report the missing prisoner, only to receive word that Legolas had passed beyond his reach, on a quest that would take him to Mordor. Thranduil's heart wrenched. He still could barely endure even to look southward, after the terrible loss of his father Oropher, and the near decimation of their people so long ago before the gates of that accursed land. And now Sauron had risen again, and war was spreading.

Thranduil did find the resolve to look in the mirror each night, to reassure himself that Legolas was well. Though he worried, his pride at the things he witnessed there was undeniable.

Often the King would lie awake in bed, whispering to her. "Miriel, how I wish I could hear your voice, to comfort me. The darkness closes in, all around, and I do not know if we will have the strength to survive. I am afraid, Miriel. So afraid."

With courage and against great odds, Thranduil led his Silvan and Sindarin warriors to fight against the orcs that came. It would be known afterward as the Battle Under the Trees. For days they struggled, a last stand for the survival of their home. There was slaughter and sorrow, and the woods were set ablaze in a great destruction. Many did not return. And yet, the King prevailed, and their hard won victory was declared.

Five days later, a great evil was defeated forever; Sauron was destroyed and at long last departed from Middle Earth. Soon after the pits of Dol Guldur were laid bare, and Galadriel wielded Nenya, cleansing the woods of all evil. Thranduil stood outside with Erynion, Sidhion, and others among his most faithful supporters, to feel the blessing of healing that drove away all sickness. And that was when Sidhion remarked, "My Lord King, your ring. It is wondrous; I did not know that it carried an enchantment of magic."

Looking for himself, Thranduil saw that the emerald blazed forth with light, as his lips parted in astonishment. Without a word of explanation, he turned and hastened to his rooms as fast as it was possible to run.

*****

Miriel's hand slowly moved to feel the soft fabric underneath her fingers. Trailing upward, she encountered the teardrops of gemstones. The tips of her fingers traced over them, one by one, as she tried to form thoughts. Her prayer to the Valar she recalled, and that she had willed herself into sleep. Yet now she was waking. Breathing more deeply, she found that her heart was light; the crushing weight in her chest that she had carried for so long had lifted. For the first time in memory she could freely draw air again as she once remembered, and so she breathed, relishing the sensation of breath moving in, moving out. The sensation of life, she thought. Where was she? No breeze moved on her skin. Engaging her senses, she tasted the scent around her. It was the smell of Thranduil. Thranduil. At the sound of his name in her mind, she cringed. _How utterly I have failed him_ , she thought.

A woman's compassionate voice entered her thoughts. "Miriel, no. You have not failed him. You will wake for me, now. Wake up, Miriel. Wake up...." As she continued to listen, the woman's voice slowly became a man's. Thranduil's voice. "Wake up, Miriel, wake up. Please, Miriel..."

Her eyes opened. She heard a cry of joy, and felt strong arms around her, lifting her into his embrace. Though she was yet feeble from sleep, she raised her arms to wrap them around him. She remembered this, she remembered love. Her heart surged with a sensation that had long been drowned out by sorrow, as she found new power to hold him more tightly. "Thranduil," she whispered. He wept, holding her against him, in joy and relief. Many minutes passed, before he could release her, but at last he carefully lowered her. Miriel did not know or understand what had happened, but that he had suffered, greatly, was plain to see.

"Thranduil, can you ever forgive me?" She raised her eyes to look at him, really look at him, for the first time in longer than she could recall.

"Miriel," he said, tracing his fingers over her cheeks. "You are restored to me, and your heart is no longer in darkness. It is I, who should ask forgiveness of you. All I ever wanted was our happiness, and I could not give it to you in the way that you needed. I have missed you terribly, Miriel, but I know you did not enter this sleep because you wanted to. You had to, and there is nothing for me to forgive."

"Thank you," she said, "for this blessing." She continued to look into his blue eyes, as if seeing them anew. Her arms, which still held his shoulders loosely, now travelled to his neck. Insistently, she pulled him towards her, until she could taste once again the sweetness of his lips. As he returned her kiss, her desire for him spiraled. "Please," she said. He understood, for he felt the same. As he brought his vigor to her spirit, her frailty departed, as she fully awakened in body and mind. This union was a greater passion than any they had previously known, and neither of them wished for it to end. They joy in their hearts blazed. When they could reach no further heights, they entered bliss together, crying out in their happiness and relief. Afterward, they shared many tender kisses, fully content in the feeling of skin against skin, and loving touches.

Thranduil was the first to speak. "Miriel, would you tell me, what happened to you? I would have nothing between us. Only love, and openness, and the free sharing of our hearts."

"I will withhold nothing from you, Thranduil. Now, or ever again." She told him of her despair, and her flight into the woods. Carefully, she recited her prayer to the Valar, and that this was the last thing she had known, before waking.

"My tale will take somewhat longer, Miriel, but I will tell it." He told her how he searched with the mirror, and how he retrieved her. And the dream he had, and the words he was told. She learned that she had slept for two hundred and sixty years, and of the great sorrows that had befallen all of them. "You will not find the world outside of these walls as you remember it, Miriel. There has been great devastation, and great strife. Yet the evil is cleansed, banished, and from this day forward only blessings and good will follow."

"I can feel it, Thranduil, even if you had not told me. I am so sorry, that I did not have the strength I wished to, that I could not be more for you. I can never regret that I wed with you, from the place of my heart and my spirit. But I was only ever a huntress, my King, when you needed a Queen."

"Miriel." He looked into her violet eyes, reveling in the color and beauty he had not beheld in so long. "I took you, not the other way around, and on that day I sealed my own fate. My heart knows the truth of your words, and I will not lie. I did not take into account the ramifications of my station, for both of us, in my eagerness to join with you as one. I told you, I am selfish. My spirit desired yours, and I placed this above all other considerations. Many times, while you slept, I asked myself if I could have, would have chosen differently, had I allowed the time in which these things would have revealed themselves. And in the end my answer was always No, Miriel. I could not deny my love for you, the pure love of the hunt and the forest that is in both of us. There would not have been another. You gave me all you had to give, you gave me Legolas. I feared that just as Finwë made demands of Míriel, I had driven you to this."

She shook her head. "You did not, Thranduil. I believe that the world itself drove me to this. While I will never know, I believe the Valar understood that if I could live here without evil constantly eroding my spirit, that I would find peace, and happiness. I want no other but you, my Lord. My love for you never diminished, but it did fall under shadow."

Thranduil drank deeply of her words, her expressions, and her touch. "I will always love you, Miriel, no matter what. You must understand, I chose to give my heart to a huntress, not a Queen. I never want you to believe again that I desire anything else. Before you, with you, and without you, I was granted the strength to prevail, and rule over my people. You are always welcome to share in my duties, or not. I have no expectations in this way. I ask only for your love, and that we will yet hunt, and see our forest restored."

Her heart leaped, and she crushed her lips to his. Their passion flared anew. This encounter was swift, primal, and cemented their restored bonds. With laughter and kisses of happiness, he brought her with him to bathe. She felt radiant, and fully restored. As they splashed in the water like innocent children, she paused. "I am a terrible mother, my Lord. How is my son?"

Thranduil grinned, and told her of the details of Legolas' life, in the years she had slept. And of the many glimpses he had in the mirror, and what he guessed the visions had meant. "Even now, he is with the one who will lay claim to the throne of Gondor. Our son keeps lofty company, indeed. Though, his best friend appears to be a dwarf. This, I am still working on." Miriel's peals of laughter rang out.

In the passage outside, Sidhion's eyes flew open at the unmistakable sound of Miriel's voice. A smile spread across his face, even as he whispered thanks to the Valar. Though he very much wished to see her, he would wait. His gratitude, that he could yet serve them, continued on undiminished.

New growth erupted in the forest, as the first day of spring arrived. Everywhere grasses and flowers in abundance covered the lands, even as new saplings sprang from the earth, growing faster and with greater hardiness than even the oldest elves could recall. On this day Thranduil brought Miriel with him to meet Celeborn, as they divided the lands in a peaceful and heartfelt discussion. Celeborn marveled at the beauty of Thranduil's wife and her extraordinary spirit, and listened with great sympathy to their astonishing story. Thranduil and Miriel both gave thanks for the blessing his wife Galadriel bestowed, when her cleansing signaled the end of Miriel's long rest. They parted, with new bonds of friendship and the promises of future visits exchanged between them. Many of those in the Realm who had come through the battle elected to depart for Valinor, and Thranduil honored their wishes, discharging them from their vows. On the first day of summer, they rode out to accompany those leaving to the borders of the forest. As they sat on the elk, hands extended outward in the gesture of honor, Thranduil encircled the waist of his wife, drawing her to him.

His obligations were much reduced now, with the diminishing of his people. They had abundant time together, and their happiness was beyond that of when they were newly wed. She found the desire, now, to share with him in the work of restoring the forest. Under her suggestion and guidance, they worked to place the new saplings in places that would result in an elaborate network of forest canopy, allowing for the skilled elves to traverse the heights with the same ease as they traversed the ground below. It was a great undertaking, but it allowed those who remained and who elected to dwell in the forest itself unprecedented freedom and security. Legolas returned to them, in the company of his fast friend Gimli, and they welcomed both. Legolas took joy in seeing his mother as he had never known her. In a day of great honesty, Legolas sat down with both his parents to hear the fulness of their story. He had not had any way of knowing, and he asked his father's forgiveness for his unfair assumptions. The bonds uniting their family were fully restored. Gimli returned to Erebor, and for a time Legolas dwelt once again at home.

They hunted, they rode, and they went for long walks. Miriel saw to it that Thranduil's happiness was complete, and that he lacked for nothing. And still she wished to give him more. Deep in the forest on one summer afternoon, they loved each other, and drifted into sleep amidst dappled sunlight and gentle breezes. Miriel was awakened, by a tug within her, and she smiled. She now had joy and great vigor. This was not the tearing of her spirit as when she conceived Legolas, but rather a parting of something within her, whose demand she could meet out of her abundance. Sitting up, she began to cover her husband with lazy kisses, disturbing his slumber. When he stirred, his beautiful blue eyes opened to look at her in mirth and good humor. She took his hand, and slid it down to cup her belly over her womb, as she smiled. "Thranduil" she spoke, with a gleam of joy and triumph in her eye.

"We are blessed, Miriel," he said, as tears of joy flowed from his eyes. In a year Miriel gave birth to a daughter, Hellinniel. She had Thranduil's flaxen hair, and blue eyes dappled with flecks of violet. Her name was to honor this color, and the violet flowers that carpeted the forest in the place she was begotten. Soon they were walking as a family in the woods, Miriel always with her bow.

Thranduil held the hand of his little daughter, as she toddled along, when he turned to speak to Miriel. Only, she was gone. In the distance far ahead he saw her, crouched, stalking. His lips parted in a broad smile, as he shook his head in mirth. "My Huntress," he whispered, as he lifted Hellinniel into his arms, and kissed her pink cheeks. He raised his eyes to the sky above, giving thanks to the Valar for the joys and happiness that now came to him without end.

**Author's Note:**

> The color of Miriel's eyes: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e8/47/da/e847da49f79350b92bcfb5ba503b076a.jpg
> 
> I would also like to draw attention to this wrenchingly beautiful digital image created by Pelegrin-tn, at DeviantArt. I found this the day I finished publishing this story, and am still reeling at how easily this could be Miriel.  
> http://pelegrin-tn.deviantart.com/art/Thranduil-s-wife-512615689


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